


mr. moon and me

by parkjinchu



Series: kim, yoon, and moon [1]
Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, M/M, Making Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-03-23 19:53:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13795101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkjinchu/pseuds/parkjinchu
Summary: following the post-natal death of his mother, eighteen year old myungjun takes in his newborn baby brother, sanha. myungjun can barely keep his head above water for six years, until he meets his brother's teacher, mr. moon. from there, it seems everything changes.this is a work of fiction, and in no way represents the real lives of astro's members. in case of astro/fantagio/reasonable fan request, this fic will be taken downread full disclaimer on my profile





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vonseal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vonseal/gifts).



> hello everyone!  
> so im back after quite a while. i decided to only focus on this fic for a long time so that i could get it finished! and, hooray, its finally done! i really love this piece, and im pretty proud of it.  
> all my love goes to @vonseal (linked in gift) who gave me the original idea. it was supposed to only be about 6k, yet here we are (35k+). she helped me along the way and was insatiable when it came to giving out spoilers - needless to say, she probably knows 95% of the storyline already and she hasnt even read it.  
> anyway, seal, i hope it lives up to your expectations!  
> and i hope, to everyone else reading, that you enjoy reading it just as much as i enjoyed writing it :)

Myungjun’s life is split cleanly into two parts; before his brother was born, and after. He is unsure which chapter of his life is happier.

Before his little brother was born, Myungjun lived with his mother. Alone, the two of them. His childhood was filled with glistening smiles, laughter that would ring like bells, kisses that soothed the worst injuries, that stopped his tears from falling over his round and sticky cheeks. He remembers with clarity and fondness, the way the yellow sunlight would wash over her face in the morning, in her hair like a halo, on her skin that would press a warm kiss against his forehead.

His mother was his angel, his guardian, his hero. Her arms would sweep him up, would collect him in their warmth, his face pressed against her bosom so the beat of her heart would hum in his hears.

Late at night, when all is quiet and his brother had finally let sleep overcome him, Myungjun lets the faintest memories of her ease him to sleep. Allows the faded, overwritten beating of her heart to sound in his ears, imagines the imprint of her lips against his temple, the whisper of her ‘goodnight, I love you’. Sometimes, it’s what gives him the strength to carry on into the next day.

The day she passed follows immediately after the day of Sanha’s birth. Complications; her body, that Myungjun had always perceived as strong and reliable, had given up. Sanha had been born, slick and shrieking as he arrived, as red and purple as a new-born should be. Slipped into their mother’s arms, allowed to be caressed in her touch for a few short hours, before she left them both completely.

He finds it strange – unfortunate, for the better word – that Sanha will never know of their mother’s personality. Will never understand how her voice would carry like a Spring breeze, how her hugs made the tension drain from one’s body. Myungjun knows he will never amount to half the figure their mother was, but he hopes he’s doing well enough.

Myungjun and Sanha live in an apartment, a tiny, quiet dwelling in the midst of the chaotic city. Sanha has a small bedroom, as elegantly designed as a six-year-old could muster, splashed with dollar-store magazine posters of super-heroes and his own stick figure drawings, the floor scattered with various toys and clothes.

Before Sanha was born, Myungjun had been excited to move onto the next stage in his life – at eighteen years old, boisterously youthful and eager to explore the world. His mother had fallen pregnant, and he’d helped around. When she passed away, Myungjun felt he had no choice but to care for his new brother. He became Sanha’s legal guardian on his second day on this earth, and for the last few years, they’ve managed together.

He worked two jobs – a supermarket cashier, in the mornings, and a waiter in the evenings. For a long while, he’d attempted to add university studies for his dream career on top of these two jobs and his caring of Sanha, but it had proved too stressful, and he pulled out of his tertiary schooling.

Life was tough for them, but they found small pockets of happiness to make their days easier.

Sanha was a small boy, with round cheeks and a button nose. His laughter is flourished with cackles and shrieks, as loud as it was often. He was short, a little chubby – Myungjun can imagine that all that baby fat still clinging to his limbs will stretch out, and he’ll eventually be taller than Myungjun himself.

Sanha loves school, loves to talk about the things he learns, loves to spend time with his friends, and especially loves his teacher. Mr. Moon, he says. Myungjun is yet to meet him, hasn’t needed too, as Sanha hadn’t been in any trouble thus far.

This morning, his little brother sits at the table, spoon swirling in his cereal between mouthfuls. His oversized uniform swallows him up, hangs loosely from his little body – Myungjun could only afford second-hand uniforms, and could not find any in time that would fit Sanha’s tiny size. He hopes, soon, that Sanha will grow into the faded, pilling uniforms.

He shuffles into the kitchen, and Sanha smiles, kicking his feet from his spot on the stool. “G’Mornin’,” Sanha mumbles around his mouthful, waving one of his small, chubby hands. Myungjun steps over, presses a kiss to the boy’s forehead. He grabs a wipe, cleans up the spills he’s already made, and begins making Sanha’s lunch.

As he goes, Sanha chats with him, “MJ, Minhyuk at school is the best at taekwondo, you know? He’s better than all the boys in my class, even better than all the boys in the grades older than us!” He exclaims, waving his spoon about in the air. “And, you know? Mr. Moon said I’m getting really good at maths. He said I also have really neat handwriting!”

Sanha talks with a rather garbled rhythm, a temporary lisp with one of his front teeth missing, the other one nearly ready to fall out. Myungjun smiles, nodding along to the stories he tells, responding with small questions here and there. He clips the lid onto Sanha’s lunchbox, washes his breakfast dish. “Did you pack your bag?”

“Yep!” Sanha replies, toddling down the hall with a pitter-patter of steps. He returns with his school bag in tow, grabbing his lunchbox and stuffing it inside.

“Got your hat?”

“Yep.”

“Homework book?”

“Yeah,” the boy says, before poking his hand around in the bag and double-checking. He taps the top of the book, to prove he has it.

“Library book?”

Sanha gasps, drops his bag at Myungjun’s feet, “Shoot, no!” He dashes down the hall.

“Language, Sanha!” Myungjun warns. When Sanha returns, he meekly apologises, zipping up his bag. “Good job. Go brush your teeth, and I’ll get ready to take you down to the bus.”

Sanha nods, trailing behind Myungjun as they walk down the hall. “When will you take me school, MJ?” He asks, gazing up at him.

Myungjun purses his lips, sighing softly. He couldn’t afford a car at the moment, and didn’t exactly have the time for the back-and-forth of school drop-offs and pick-ups considering his jobs. Sanha had been excited to show him his school, introduce him to his favourite teacher and all his friends, but Myungjun had never been able to find the time.

“One day, I promise,” he smiles. “But, today, it’s the bus again, okay? Quick, go brush your teeth! I’ll be checking,” he says, pinching Sanha’s chubby cheek.

Once they’re both ready to go, Sanha straps his bag over his shoulders, and stuffs his hat on his head. Hand-in-hand, they follow the short route to the bus stop, where Sanha would climb on, wave to him from the window, and get off after six stations.

Myungjun always worried about him – but, he had no choice. He turns away once the bus is out of sight, and walks in the direction of the supermarket.

If anything, he wants to make Sanha’s life easier, safer, happier. That’s his only goal, these days.

 

*

 

Myungjun waits by the bus stop, goes over their weekly schedule in his head: he’ll take Sanha home, give him something to eat, and head off to his night job. Trust Sanha to do his homework, and send himself to bed. He hated leaving Sanha to be so independent, but he needed the money from this job so they could both eat lunch.

He’s glad that, these days, Sanha can take care of himself for the few hours that Myungjun is at work after his school day finishes. When he was younger, when he was a _baby_ , he would come in and out of childcare services. Or, when money was tight, was passed around Myungjun’s friendship circle to help care for him.

These days, he doesn’t have time for friends (and friends didn’t have time for him, or Sanha). He’d rather keep Sanha happy and well-fed than have an intricate and exciting social life.

The bus rolls to a stop, huffing with the effort it takes. Myungjun waits for Sanha’s sunshine beaming face to step off the bus, to run into his arms, to excitedly tell him everything that had happened at school. That is what always happened.

Sanha hurries off the bus and launches himself into Myungjun’s arms, throwing himself into his older brother’s arms. All is silent for a moment, until sobs crackle out from his tiny body.

Myungjun crouches to his brother’s height, as the six-year-old sniffles in his shirt. He pulls the boy’s head back, cupping his swollen, pink face in his hands, wiping his tears away with his thumbs. “Sanha…”

“MJ,” he cries, throwing himself into the bend of Myungjun’s shoulder. “I want to go home!” His voice hiccups and lolls, and Myungjun feels his chest cave in, as if his heart were deflating.

“San… What’s wrong, baby?” He whispers, taking the boy’s hat off and patting his hair down. Sanha doesn’t answer, simply stuffs his face further into Myungjun’s chest and sobs harder. Myungjun hoists his brother onto his back, and begins the journey home.

They walk wordlessly for the majority of their trip, the hum of the city filling in their silence. Sanha had stopped crying after a few minutes, had rolled himself up against Myungjun’s back and pressed the plush of his cheek into his shoulder blade. A comforting warmth, for the both of them.

They’re about a block away from their apartment, when Sanha lifts his head, his chin poking over Myungjun’s shoulder. “MJ,” he murmurs, voice strung with apprehension.

“Yeah?” He asks. Sanha shifts on his back, and Myungjun moves his arms to better support him.

His brother sighs. “What do you do if… If someone is mean to you?”

Myungjun stops on the corner, cranes his neck around to peer at his younger brother. Sanha stares at him with wide, imploring, innocent eyes. They’re a little red, somewhat glassy. His mind spins, swells with worries. Had someone bullied him? Had someone hurt him? What happened in his baby brother’s life that he had not fully understood and known? What could he have done before this, to prevent it?

“Was someone mean to you?” He asks, brows furrowing.

Sanha nods after a moment, chewing on his lower lip.

“What did they do?”

“Some boys in Grade Two,” he starts, eyes welling up. Myungjun pulls the boy off his back and sets him on the pavement, dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms around Sanha’s waist, one hand patting the small of his back, comforting. He thinks about how his hand is almost as wide as Sanha’s back, and how Sanha could once fit in the wedge of his forearm. “They made fun of me.”

“Why?”

“MJ, they made fun of me because mum and dad aren’t here,” he croaks, the little starfish shape of his hands clutching at Myungjun’s shoulders.

Myungjun feels as if his soul is seeping out of him. His stomach feels like it is twisting like a bound rope, his chest feels as if it were tearing in two. Children could be so cruel; who would bully someone because they had lost their parents?

“And, because my uniform is big and old, and because you never come in to see Mr. Moon. They told me no one cares about me,” he cries, shoving himself into Myungjun’s warmth. “MJ, you care about me, right?”

Myungjun clutches the little boy closer, squeezing him close to his chest. “Of course, baby,” he murmurs, his palm supporting the round, heavy base of Sanha’s head. “Never forget that I care about you, okay? I love you the most, in the whole world, Sanha.”

Even if they had no one else, they had each other. That was all Myungjun needed.

 

*

 

Myungjun returns to a silent, dark apartment. Their home always looked like this after his shifts at the restaurant – like a hollow, empty shell.

He slips off his shoes and shuffles down the hall, avoiding the creaks in the floorboard he is aware of, so he doesn’t wake up his little brother. He pokes his head into Sanha’s bedroom.

The boy is curled along one side of the bed, his nose tucked under the end of his duvet. There’s a large stuffed animal in his arms, one that their mother had bought before Sanha was born. His night-light spills a gentle orange light over the room from the corner. Myungjun tip-toes over the messy floor, pulls the blankets Sanha had tucked himself into back, and presses a small kiss to his cheek.

In the living room, he tugs off his jacket and hooks it over the coatrack, switching on one of the lamps. Scattered over the coffee table in front of the television, is a plate with only the crusts and crumbs left – from the sandwich Myungjun had made him before he left, in case he got hungry after dinner – and Sanha’s homework.

He settles on the couch, pulling one of the thin comforters over his legs. He scans over Sanha’s homework, checking to see whether it is all completed. Sanha writes in heavy, dark letters, the lines of his characters wonky and his circles open. There’s a spelling checklist of 15 words, of which Sanha had gotten 11 correct – over the weekend, he’ll be sure to help Sanha out.

His math homework has tubes of eraser shavings scattered over the page, ghosts of his previous answers that had been rubbed away on the sheet. In the end, he’d gotten each and every one right.

Myungjun begins to pack his homework book away, tucking the loose pages into the spine. He flips to the ‘parent’s page’, a section dedicated to leaving messages between teacher and parent. Myungjun had never used it, other than to scrawl his signature and signify that he was keeping up with Sanha’s education. However, as he flips to the page, there’s a handwritten note inside, from a foreign handwriting he’d never seen before.

_Addressed to Yoon Sanha’s legal guardian,_

_Sanha is a wonderful student to have in my class. As you are unable to ever meet with me, I’m afraid I’ve never been able to let you know what a pleasure he is to teach. However, as of late, he’s been subject to some mild bullying from other students in the school._

_I had not mentioned anything, as I believe you are a busy person, from what Sanha has told me. I had assumed Sanha would have told someone what was happening, but it seems this is not the case. Today, the incidences reached a breaking point, and Sanha spent the remainder of the day by my side._

_Usually, it is not a teacher’s duty to address these situations ourselves. If worst comes to worst, it is more commonly a parent who looks to us for help. But, as you have not come to me, I’ve decided to reach out, instead. Perhaps, this is the first time you’re even hearing of this._

_If you do happen to get the chance, I’d like to meet with you and discuss. I’m free any time before and after school – and Sanha seems very excited for us to meet, too._

_Regards,_

_Mr. Moon._

The letter is closed with an elegant, swirling signature.

Myungjun sighs, pressing the book to his chest. How long had this been going on? How long had Sanha kept this to himself? He thinks of Sanha, coiled against the stuffed animal his mother had gifted him, the mother who would never know the boy Sanha is today. How could anyone ridicule someone for their life without parents?

Balancing the book on his knees, Myungjun grabs a pencil of Sanha’s and scribbles a message in reply;

_Thank you._

_I promise to meet with you, soon._


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bin stills, eyes squinting briefly. He murmurs, “Different family names…” and then his eyes blow wide. He glances at Myungjun apologetically, for letting his observation slip so easily from his lips.  
> “Different fathers,” Myungjun admits, waving the teacher off. He wasn’t offended anymore, when people made mistakes such as these. It happened so often – he thinks back to Mr. Park and hopes the man doesn’t feel too mortified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey i hope you like my story

“Hat?”

“Yep!” Sanha ties it around his head.

“Library book?”

“Yep – almost finished!”

“Homework book?” Myungjun asks, recalling the note he’d left behind. Hoping it will reach the infamous Mr. Moon. Hoping he can live up to his promise.

“Yeah. I’m gonna show Mr. Moon my math homework. I got every single one right, right?”

Myungjun smiles, “You definitely did, smarty-pants! Got your lunch,” He says, and hands the lunchbox to Sanha.

The boy stuffs it into his bag and swings it over his shoulders, and they begin their walk to the bus stop. As they wait for the bus, Sanha plays games of scissors-paper-rock, and tic-tac-toe with him. As the bus pulls up on the curb, and passengers swap over, Myungjun takes Sanha by the hand, “Have a good day, okay?”

The boy nods, his chubby cheeks wobbling with the force of it.

“If anyone is mean to you again, make sure you go see Mr. Moon, okay?” Sanha nods once more, and with a final kiss to his cheek, Sanha boards the bus.

As he rolls away, and Myungjun hurries down the street to his day-job, he wonders about Mr. Moon. He’s ever so grateful for someone else Sanha can look up to, can rely on. He hopes to meet this kind stranger, one day soon.

 

*

 

“My little brother has fallen terribly ill,” Myungjun lies down the phone, pressed awkwardly between his ear and his shoulder, as he prepares Sanha’s school lunch. He glances over at the boy, who is toying with an old action figure of Myungjun’s, making it fly through the air above his seat at the table. It had been a few days since he’d replied to Mr. Moon’s message, and was set on meeting him today. “I won’t be able to make it in, today. I’m sorry.”

 _Myungjun, that’s horrible_ , a co-worker of his says. _What’s wrong with him?_

Myungjun huffs, “Oh, it’s bad, something he must have caught from a kid at school. He’s throwing up, and he’s got a raging fever. If it doesn’t clear up by tomorrow, I’ll have to take him to a doctor,” he says, attempting to sound worried. Sanha looks up at him curiously, hands stilling on the toy in his grip. His little full-moon face grins gently, almost naturally graced with a petite smile all the time. Not sick, at all.

He hopes Sanha is not listening closely to his end of the phone conversation – he does not want to raise his little brother a liar.

 _Well, tell him I said, ‘get well soon’, okay?_ Their voice crackles down the line, and Myungjun can hear the faint beeping of scanning machines registering groceries. _I’ll write this day up as unpaid for you, okay?_

Chewing his lip, Myungjun confirms. Missing one shift wouldn’t hurt too much, as long as he cut his shower short and made sure he switched Sanha’s night light off after he falls asleep.

As he hangs up, he packs the rest of Sanha’s lunch into his lunchbox. “Guess what, baby?” He prompts, handing the six-year-old his food. Sanha peers at him with an inquisitive gaze. “I’m gonna drop you off to school today!”

The boy gasps, his small pink lips pulling into a little circle. His eyes widen, his grin pulling up at the corners and his cheeks filling along the edges. Bouncing on his toes, he reaches up, and Myungjun scoops the boy up under his arms and hugs him to his chest. Sanha cheers, giggles bubbling out of his mouth.

He may be missing a shift, but Myungjun wasn’t wasting his time when it came to Sanha. Everything he did these days was for his little brother.

“Will you meet Mr. Moon?” Sanha asks, arms sliding around his neck and clutching onto him. Myungjun hoists his arms up under Sanha’s weight and slides him onto his hip.

“Of course,” he smiles, brushing Sanha’s hair out of his eyes, making a mental note to cut Sanha’s hair, soon. “I’m excited to meet him,” he says. After all, he was coming to meet the teacher Sanha adores, to sort out the troubling situation Sanha had been keeping quiet.

“What about your job?” Sanha asks, pulling away from him slowly. His little pink lips purse, a guilty expression settling over his features.

Myungjun smiles gently, sighing softly. Pressing a soft kiss to the boy’s nose, he assures him, “Work said it was okay, you don’t have to worry, darling.” Sanha allows a tiny smile on his lips, before wriggling free from Myungjun’s grip and sliding back down onto the floor.

“I’ll go get my school bag,” he says, before hurrying off.

It seems Sanha has even more to tell about his teacher on the walk to the bus stop. His eyes sparkle as he talks about Mr. Moon, about the man’s interest in dancing, about how kind he is to everyone, and how sometimes, when Myungjun doesn’t have enough lunch for Sanha, Mr. Moon will give him some of his own.

“He really does that?” Myungjun asks, as they take a seat on the bus. Sanha curls up to his side, arm slung around his.

“I told him not too, but he said I had to eat it.”

Myungjun pats Sanha’s head, and watches the world whiz by out the window, and wonders just how much Sanha isn’t telling him, and just how much he owes Mr. Moon.

At the sixth bus stop, the siblings clamber off the bus, and Sanha leads him to his primary school.

The establishment is settled in the centre of the neighbourhood, a long and tall slab of brick. Each window has its own flare, colourful pictures and crafts made by children stuck to the glass. There’s a large oval, with a climbing frame, and a sand pit, and a little shaded eating area, where children are chasing each other, laughter spilling over the fence. There are parents dotted around, wishing their children farewell, chatting to teachers and other parents.

“Look, there’s Minhyuk and his dad!” Sanha says, taking Myungjun by the hand and tugging him into the school yard. It had been a long time since Myungjun had stepped foot in an elementary school. Everything is loud, and he feels like he’s been tugged into a cyclone, as children dash past him.

“Sanha!” A voice squeaks, and Myungjun peers over to see another little boy waving his hands excitedly. Beside him is a short man, presumably his father, who grins widely.

“Hello, Sanha,” the man says, waving softly.

Sanha stops before them, “Minhyuk, Mr. Park, this is MJ,” he says, gesturing to Myungjun. He smiles, bowing to them both.

Mr. Park has a large face, with a long nose and a ginormous, gummy smile. There are wrinkles carved into the corners of his eyes, from years of laughter. “Ah, the infamous ‘MJ’! Hey there,” he bows, “Call me Jinwoo.”

“I’m Myungjun, but Sanha calls me MJ, because when he was younger he couldn’t pronounce my name,” he giggles, and Sanha ducks his face behind his leg. “I’m Sanha’s older brother.”

Jinwoo’s eyes widen a moment, and then soften, “Oh, I wasn’t going to say, but you really look too young to be the father of a six-year-old,” he chuckles gently, “I didn’t know you were his brother!”

Myungjun smiles tightly, “I’m his legal guardian,” he replies, patting Sanha’s head, coaxing him out from behind his legs. Before Jinwoo can feel embarrassed about his faux pas, Myungjun asks, “Do you know where I can speak with Mr. Moon?”

The father’s eyes blink, “Oh, uh, y-yeah,” he stammers awkwardly. “His classroom is on the second floor, he should be in there. Sanha will know where to go,” he says, and bows once more.

Sanha nods, “I’ll see you later, Minhyuk,” he waves, and tugs Myungjun toward the brick school building.

The halls inside the building are littered with posters and messages, ‘clean your hands properly’, ‘always finish your homework’, and ‘treat others with respect’. Outside each classroom is a little pin board with messages and pictures. Sanha skips up the steps and around the corner on the second floor.

Mr. Moon’s classroom cannot be missed. The little pin board by the door is vibrant and colourful, overflowing with little notes and tacked in pictures. There’s a small shelf labelled ‘Homework’ for children to grab their bookbags. The windows lining the wall are decorated so heavily one must peer through the gaps to see inside, finger-paintings and photographs of the class activities stuck on the inside. Myungjun spots one of Sanha’s own paintings, and feels his heart swell when he reads the caption, _me and MJ_.

The painting is of two figures, crudely designed, with sticks for legs and pom-poms for hands. The figure representing Myungjun has large eyes and sharp eyelashes, and a smile so wide it took up half of his face. The Sanha character is short and round, holding one of Myungjun’s spiky hands. His smile is just as big. Between them is a little red love heart, looped and wonky.

As Sanha hooks up his backpack on the pegs outside, Myungjun wishes he could snap a picture.

Inside the classroom, there are rows of tiny desks, impossibly small. Along the back wall is shelves of books, colourful and fictional, and rows of textbooks. The walls are covered with posters and pictures. Above the windows is paper bunting, listing the birthdays of children in the class. In the corner, by the whiteboards, is a big desk, and behind it, a young man huddles over a pile of paperwork.

“Good morning, Mr. Moon,” Sanha says, alerting the man of their presence. The teacher jumps a little, head flicking up, eyes wide and alarmed. His gaze immediately softens as it lands on the boy, before his eyes flicker up to Myungjun and he smiles.

Mr. Moon is a tall man, with a thin and youthful face. His nose is round and perky, curled smoothly around its button-end. His eyes are thin and a little puffy around the bottom, perhaps tired, but very sweet. They sparkle as he smiles, his thin lips rolled up and lifting his cheeks.

“Mr. Moon,” Myungjun greets, bowing deeply, “Nice to meet you.”

The teacher bows in response. “Feel free to call me Bin,” he smiles. “And, you are?”

Myungjun is rather taken aback by the teacher being so forward, so casual. Was it normal for a teacher to be so friendly to let the people they work with call them by their given name?

“I-I’m Kim Myungjun, Sanha’s older brother, and legal guardian.”

Bin stills, eyes squinting briefly. He murmurs, “Different family names…” and then his eyes blow wide. He glances at Myungjun apologetically, for letting his observation slip so easily from his lips.

“Different fathers,” Myungjun admits, waving the teacher off. He wasn’t offended anymore, when people made mistakes such as these. It happened so often – he thinks back to Mr. Park and hopes the man doesn’t feel too mortified.

Moon Bin nods, and relaxes after a moment, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Anyway, how can I help you, today?” He asks. “Is this about the message I left you?”

Myungjun nods, “Yeah. I hope it’s not too late to have this conversation?”

“Not at all,” Bin assures, before looking down at Sanha. “Sanha, can you do me a big favour?” The little boy nods at him, beaming. “Can you go hand out all of the math textbooks and put them on everyone’s desks? We’re going to start with math this morning,” he grins, and Sanha immediately scurries toward one of the bookshelves. He turns back to Myungjun, “Here, take a seat,” he offers, and sits behind his desk.

Myungjun sits on the other side, where a plush chair waits. Bin’s desk is cluttered with papers and pens. His pen pot is filled with novelty pencils of all shapes, sizes, and colours. There are whiteboard markers in pinks and purples, as well as formal colours, black, red, and blue.

“I’m sorry, it’s such a mess,” the man apologises, hands fluttering around the desk as he tries to clear some of it up. In his hurry, he only makes it worse.

Myungjun smiles, “Don’t worry about it – you should see our house,” he jokes, and Bin visibly relaxes some more. Though a little awkward, Mr. Moon seemed a charming character.

The teacher sighs, sitting forward in his chair and resting his elbows on the desk, “I’m not really sure how I’m supposed to start this conversation,” he admits. His lips purse, briefly, and his eyes roll as he ponders what to say next. “Were you aware of Sanha being mistreated by his peers?”

Myungjun shakes his head. Should he feel embarrassed, or shameful, for being unaware? Sanha was his whole world – and he hadn’t even realised something was wrong. “Not until the day I got your message. He was a bit of a wreck, that evening.” Bin’s eyes widen slightly, and Myungjun continues. “He never said anything, and I guess I was too busy to realise…” He hides his face, peering down at his lap. He can hear Sanha pattering around the back of the classroom.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Bin mutters, his words laced with a comforting gentleness. His hand inches forward to sit between them. “I think… I think Sanha has had to grow up a lot faster than the other kids… I think he realises you’re so busy, and doesn’t want to add onto that.”

Myungjun blinks up at him.

“Sanha tells me all about you – you know, he really loves you, really looks up to you? He told me how busy you were, he even sounded a little worried about you,” Bin hums, glancing over to Sanha, who is still unpacking textbooks, one by one. “I love Sanha – he’s such a delight. He’s so bright, so kind, so funny. You’re lucky to have him as a little brother!”

Myungjun is quiet for a moment, and he follows Bin’s gaze. “I know…” Sanha fumbles with two textbooks in his hands, dropping them with a thud onto a desk. The loud noise echoes in the room, and he looks up at the two men sheepishly, a shy grin sliding onto his lips. Myungjun turns back to Bin, “Thank you – for everything. For letting me meet with you to help him out. For helping him, when I can’t. I think I owe you so much more than he lets me know of.”

Moon Bin shakes his head, smiling softly. “You don’t owe me anything, at all.”

“But, those lunches, you take care of him during breaks, I-,”

“You owe me nothing, Myungjun.”

The conversation jumps – “Do you really think he’s had to grow up faster than the others?” Myungjun stresses, shifting closer to the desk on his chair. “I’ve tried to make sure he has a relatively normal childhood – as normal as it can be sans-parents – I baby him and everything. I clean up after him, I have to guide him through brushing his teeth, still! I know I have to leave him often, but, I…” Myungjun gives up on his rambled defence, taking the plush of his bottom lip between his teeth and clenching down.

Bin hums softly, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “I don’t know much about yours and Sanha’s situation, but I think any kid like this learns to grow up a little faster…”

Sannha scuttles up to the teacher’s desk, resting one of his little, chubby hands on the corner. “Mr. Moon, I’ve finished!”

The man instantly smiles, cheering quietly. “Well done!” He chimes, and Sanha grins, glancing over at Myungjun with a smile on his face. Myungjun shows him a thumbs-up. “There’s still some time before the school bell rings… Would you like to go play outside, with Minhyuk, or do you want to stay in here? I can give you a colouring sheet?”

Sanha nods, grinning, and waits for Bin to retrieve one from a desk drawer. Twice today, already, Myungjun had seen Sanha interact with people he’d never met before. Myungjun had never really seen his little brother get along with anyone. He never doubted Sanha had friends – the boy would always come home with tales about his friends and his teacher – but he hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes before now.

The little boy takes a pot of colouring pencils and settles by a desk in the far corner of the room. His little feet tap in his worn-out shoes, as his hand drags colours over the page.

Bin speaks up after a short while, and Myungjun turns back around. “I’m glad you could finally come in to see me. I’ve wanted to know how I can help Sanha, for a while, now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know where to find me ;)


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Myungjun is drawn, like a fish on a hook, further into the life of his little brother. A world mostly unknown to him, a world that Sanha had kept largely to himself in order to leave Myungjun with what little free-time he had. The familiar swelling of his heart is subdued by the intense warmth that swirls throughout him, as he watches the little brother he loved so dearly open up and grow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> really long chapter this time guys, i'm so sorry!! i wasnt able to find a way to halve it so its basically double a normal chapters length. anyway! i hope you enjoy! im working really hard on my school work but i have started a short oneshot that i want to show you all soon!

The weekend arrives quickly. Myungjun takes no shifts on the weekends, so he can care for Sanha. Together, they make breakfast, and do the grocery shopping. Myungjun helps him with the homework he’d been struggling with during the week. They draw, or head to the park, or relax in bed. Because he has barely any time to spend with the boy, Myungjun dedicates his weekends to Sanha.

On Saturday morning, Myungjun wakes to the soft pattering of feet, and the squeak of his bedroom door. The sun glistens in through the open blinds, prickling heat along his back. When his eyes open, still sticky with sleep, Sanha is climbing onto his bed, the parallel patterns of the blinds dancing over his little face.

The sun catches like a halo in his hair, little golden ripples over the silky, black strands. In this moment, his skin is so golden and gaze so warm, Myungjun is reminded so much of his mother. Sanha holds so many of the same characteristics, mannerisms, and traits – he feels his breath catch whenever the boy resembles their mother, even if only for a sliver of a second.

Sanha flops onto the mattress, humming as he melts into the warm sheets. His face nuzzles into the pillow beside Myungjun’s head, and his tired eyes hover over his older brother’s face, tracing him with his gaze. He smiles. “Good morning,” he whispers, blinking sleep away.

“Good morning, baby,” Myungjun replies, pushing Sanha’s hair out of his face. The boy’s skin is warm, and as his fingers run over the boy’s cheek, he feels the indentation of pillow creases.

Sanha frowns, his little pink lip pouting. “I’m not a _baby_ ,” he complains.

Myungjun pokes his cheek, “I know, you’re a big boy. I just like to call you that! You’re _my_ baby.” With that, he scoops the boy into his arms and drags him closer to his chest, laying kisses over his forehead.

The boy rests against his neck for a moment, before pulling out from Myungjun’s grasp and resting on one of his elbows, head cocked to the side, “I’m not your baby. I’m your brother,” he says.

Myungjun’s heart swells, cools and hardens like ice. He need not be reminded. “Yeah,” he confirms, pushing his head further in the pillow. “But, you’re _like_ my baby… Okay?” He rubs Sanha’s arm, perhaps soothing himself more than his brother. The boy nods, his hair falling back into his face. “I’ve really got to give you another haircut, don’t I, Sanha?” He changes the subject.

One of Sanha’s little digits twirls around a clump of hair, and he looks at it, curiously. “It grew quickly!”

 _Just like you_ , Myungjun thinks.

 

*

 

They sit side-by-side at the kitchen table, Myungjun hovering over Sanha’s spelling homework. He leads Sanha through the prompts, asking him questions to guide him to the right answers.

“Spelling is hard,” Sanha complains, chewing on the end of his pencil. “How did you get so good at it?” He asks, looking up at Myungjun.

“I finished school already!” The man giggles, pinching Sanha’s cheek.

“Mr. Moon is good at spelling, too,” he whines.

“Mr. Moon has also finished school, darling,” Myungjun grins. He pats Sanha’s hair down, freshly cut and a little choppy – he had never been good at hairstyling, and Sanha had never been good at staying still. “If you’re having lots of trouble, I can talk to him, if you’d like?”

The boy ponders this for a moment, the tip of the pen pushing into his lip, “Maybe. I think I can do it!” He says, turning to Myungjun, “But, I do want you to see Mr. Moon again.”

Myungjun laughs again, but Sanha blinks up at him with a genuine, glittering gaze, and he stills. “Why’s that, baby?”

“I want you to be friends!” It was certainly sweet. Sanha seemed to look up to his teacher very much, and according to Moon Bin, he looked up to Myungjun, too. He wanted two of his favourite people to come together, to connect his two small worlds. “He said he liked you.”

The man blinks, “What?”

“I spent time with him at lunch and we cleaned the science equipment up together. He said he liked you. Will you be friends?”

Myungjun ponders Mr. Moon Bin, who loved his baby brother, who had time for his baby brother, who took care of his baby brother. Myungjun ponders Mr. Moon Bin, and decides that, finally, he could afford to open his social circle, just a little.

 

*

 

A second letter arrives in Sanha’s homework book.

With it, comes a little slip of paper. The paper has some crude clipart of a family, strung together by their hands, and a big, bold title: FAMILY AFTERNOON. Myungjun eyes it with curiosity, flips it over in his hands. There’s a time slot, and a message that tells any family members to come one afternoon after school and have a look at everything their student had been up to in their class.

Moon Bin’s note is scrawled beneath a row of Myungjun’s signatures:

_To Kim Myungjun, brother of Yoon Sanha,_

_I hope you will be able to make it to this event. It’s just one afternoon after school, and you’ll be able to see everything Sanha has been working on at school. If it’s not too much trouble, Sanha would love to show you everything he’s completed in the year so far._

_He seems excited for us to meet again!_

_Looking forward to seeing you again,_

_Mr. Moon Bin._

Beneath his message is a brief, lazy signature. Myungjun smiles, absentmindedly running his finger over the indent in the page.

He glances down at Sanha who sits over the coffee table, eating crackers from a plate, who has so much going on that Myungjun knows nothing about. He waves the slip of paper before his brother’s face, catching the boy’s attention, “What’s this?”

Sanha takes the paper in his fingers, and Myungjun reads it aloud to him, as Sanha follows along. “Oh, the Family Afternoon,” Sanha hums. His little body curls to face Myungjun, “Will you come?”

Friday afternoon – until five o’clock. Myungjun’s shift at the restaurant started at half-past six. The time from the school, to their home, and to the restaurant was too long. If Myungjun could leave early, he might just be able to go. Might just be able to explore more of the world his brother lived in, might just be able to make a new friend in Moon Bin.

Myungjun grabs a pen from Sanha’s pencil case, signing off on his homework.

_Mr. Moon Bin,_

_I would love to come!_

_Is there a chance I could leave early? I have somewhere to be._

_Kim Myungjun, brother of Yoon Sanha._

*

 

Myungjun follows the path Sanha had lead him down a few weeks prior, stepping off from the bus. Work had let him off a little early, so he could come to the short event. He can hear the distant chatter of the school grounds, flowing around the bend in the corner, crackling and sweet like popping candy.

As he nears the school gates, he searches the area of gathered people for Sanha. Amidst the rumbling cluster of children, running back and forth, he manages to spot his little brother, standing diligently beside Minhyuk and Mr. Park, another man, and Moon Bin. They chat amongst themselves, words Myungjun can neither hear nor make out from the shapes of their lips. He watches the group, curiosity wrapping around his mind, and stops still at the gate.

It takes a moment, but soon enough, Sanha’s hopeful gaze sweeps the school grounds. His big, round eyes land on Myungjun, behind the gate, and his face instantly cracks into a broad grin, showcasing his missing front tooth. The boy tugs on his teacher’s sleeve, pulling his attention down, and sticks his little index finger in the direction of his older brother. Mr. Moon follows his finger, and when his eyes land on Myungjun, he smiles a little wider.

The group’s eyes are all on Myungjun as he walks through the gates and makes his way to where they stand. Skipping up to him, Sanha joins him and leads him up to the small group – of people in Sanha’s world that Myungjun had only recently come to discover – among the crowd of other families.

“MJ!” Minhyuk calls, with childlike ease and compassion.

“Hello, Minhyuk,” Myungjun replies, before turning to his father, “Hello, Mr. Park,” he greets, to the man he’d met a few days prior.

Jinwoo grins, bowing gently. “Myungjun, nice to see you again.” His hand plays with Minhyuk’s hair, who stands as tall as his upper thigh. He gestures to the man beside him, “This is Dongmin, my partner.”

Dongmin, with a head of dark hair and a tall, pale figure, bows deeply. “Hello,” he smiles. Before Myungjun can react, Mr. Moon turns to him.

“Myungjun, you came,” Bin comments, a gentle smile gracing his lips.

“I tried,” he replies, lightly. Sanha is gripping onto his arm, and Myungjun scoops him up and hoists the boy onto his hip. He scrambles around in his memory for another time he picked Sanha up from school – he realises the only time he’s ever had was on Sanha’s first day.

The teacher smiles, as Sanha curls into his older brother’s chest, “Well, I’m thinking most of my class is here, so I’ll get everything started,” he says to the group, before scurrying off and into the school building.

A silence falls over the two, small families, as they’re left alone. Dongmin shuffles on the spot for a moment, as he figures out what to say, “So, Myungjun, was it?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice to meet you!” He greets. “Jinwoo told me he met you, I was wondering when I would meet the ‘MJ’ that Sanha always talks about!” Jinwoo, beside him, purses his lips at the mention of their first meeting. Myungjun had brushed the incident away, then, and he will once more, if only to gain some sort of normalcy between he and the parents of his brother’s friend.

“He talks about me?” Myungjun asks, and pats the head that is nestled into his chest.

“All the time,” Jinwoo chuckles, before pulling a strange face at Sanha, which makes the boy against Myungjun’s side giggle.

“I’m glad to have met you,” Dongmin says, taking Minhyuk’s hand in his. “Minhyukkie’s always asking to have Sanha over, so now that we’ve met, maybe we could organise a sleepover?” He suggests, his voice ringing high as he teases the children. Both little boys cheer in excitement, and Sanha wriggles out of Myungjun’s grip to give his friend a little high-five.

The group chat for a little while longer, until their class is called up, and they trail up the stairs. Myungjun clutches onto Sanha’s hand, as they move through the families making their ways to their respective classrooms. There are lots of people huddled into Mr. Moon’s class, parents who crouch beside their children’s desks making the room almost overflow with guests.

Myungjun can’t help but feel a little envious, or, perhaps, alone.

Moon Bin is a man of elegance and grace, standing before the bustling classroom with a confident aura and pleasant smile. His hands clap together and the room listens to his requests, quickly falling into a silence. Everyone hangs onto his words, his little speech about how wonderful it was to teach this class, and mentioning some of the highlights of their year thus far.

Sanha swings his chubby little legs in his desk chair, leant over the wooden board, one finger tracing patterns into Myungjun’s arm. He perks up when folios begin to be handed out, and he excitedly takes his from Bin’s hands, and opens it up on the desk for Myungjun to look at.

The thick folio is filled with all sorts of Sanha’s assessments. There are paintings and drawings, much like the one Myungjun had seen stuck to the window of the classroom. There are short stories, scrawled in with Sanha’s messy handwriting and fair spelling. Multiple choice, short response, colour-by-numbers. A clear plastic slip holds a collection of photos of Sanha, with classmates on the playground, or playing with the collection of toys in the corner of the room.

His little brother has a tale for each item pulled out of the folio. A tale for the crude cellophane and glue art, for the picture of him huddled over a lady beetle, even for his math test he received a 100% mark on.

Myungjun is drawn, like a fish on a hook, further into the life of his little brother. A world mostly unknown to him, a world that Sanha had kept largely to himself in order to leave Myungjun with what little free-time he had. The familiar swelling of his heart is subdued by the intense warmth that swirls throughout him, as he watches the little brother he loved so dearly open up and grow.

He’s so absorbed in learning more about his little brother and his life at school that, it seems, time has skipped ahead. Myungjun glances around the room as Sanha starts tucking everything back into his folio, and notices the dwindling presence in the room – many families have already left for the day. His eyes fly around the room in search for a clock, finding one sat smugly above the white board, six-minutes-to-five staring down at him.

“I’ll help you,” Myungjun urges, helping Sanha tuck his things back into folio, with a little more speed. Sanha seems to catch on, his little arms speeding up. Once the folio is packed, Myungjun stands to put it back, but Mr. Moon stops him.

“You’re welcome to take anything in the folio back home,” he says, one hand on the folio.

Myungjun ponders this, and decides that, maybe another time, he can come back and take something. But, for now, he needs to hurry home. He smiles passively, “Thank you, but, Sanha and I have really got to go,” he says, and attempts to push past the teacher. Who, to Myungjun’s discontent, remains in his spot.

“Are you in a rush?” Bin asks.

Nodding, he replies, “Yeah, in my last message I said I had somewhere to be – I have to go to work. I was supposed be leaving early – I got caught up this afternoon looking at Sanha’s projects.” Sanha peers up at them at the mention of his name. “Sanha, please go put your folio back in the box, okay?” He asks, and hands it to the boy, who immediately scurries away. “I’m sorry, but we have to go home. If we don’t leave soon, we’ll miss the last bus.”

“Would it be faster if I took you?” Moon Bin asks, lips pursing. Myungjun stares up at him, into his genuine eyes, that always seem to sparkle. He couldn’t be sure why the man opposite him was offering such a thing. Was this something teachers normally did, for other families?

“That’s thoughtful of you,” he admits, attempting to step past him again, “But, you don’t have too. I don’t want to be a burden.”

Bin sighs, “It wouldn’t be a burden,” he argues. Sanha runs back to join them, and he grins down at the boy. “Anything to help Sanha out,” he says, quietly, a small admission.

Myungjun wonders how much Bin cares for his little brother. What his intentions were, and why he would take time out of his life and his career to care for Sanha. In all honesty, Myungjun needs all the help he can get – without parents, friends, or a partner, the two only have each other –  but he isn’t sure whether or not it was okay to accept this help. Especially from someone who had helped for so long, without Myungjun ever being able to give anything in return, not even a ‘thank you’.

“Just wait…” Bin peers down at the watch on his wrist, “Four minutes, and I’ll clear everything out of here, and I promise I’ll get you to where you need to be, on time. Home, and to your job,” he smiles. He waits for Myungjun to refuse, and when he doesn’t, he smiles. One hand on Myungjun’s shoulder, he says, “I’m glad,” and turns away.

“What’s happening?” Sanha asks, as Myungjun takes his hand. “Did we miss the bus?”

“No, baby,” Myungjun says, “Mr. Moon offered to take us home.”

The boy jumps, practically bouncing out of the room, “Really?” He asks, squeaking in excitement.

He plays with the zippers on his bag as they wait outside Bin’s classroom, the repetitive whizz of the zip beginning to hurt Myungjun’s brain. He’s about to tell Sanha to cut it out, when the light in the classroom switches off, and Bin steps out.

He smiles to the both of them as he slides the doors shut, locking them. “You ready to go?” He asks, and swings his backpack over his shoulder.

Sanha leaps to his feet, clutching at the bottom of Moon Bin’s jacket. Myungjun hurries to pull the boy away, but Bin seems perfectly fine. “Are you really taking us home?”

“I am!” He grins.

“Why?”

Bin blinks, and then replies, “Didn’t you tell me you wanted to show me your bedroom?”

“Sanha…” Myungjun chides, “Don’t be a nuisance,” he tells the boy.

“Never a nuisance,” Moon Bin grins, as they walk down the stairs. The school grounds are empty and dark, rather unsettling. A place usually filled with children and laughter – it was so strange to see the place so void of life. “Like I said,” he says to Myungjun, as Sanha climbs into the back seat. “I like Sanha – I want to make things easier for him, easier for you.”

Guilt is heavy in the base of Myungjun’s stomach. Had he made it appear they were struggling, that Moon Bin felt so bad, he had to help out? He was taking the time out of his own life to care for a student, and his older brother. What was he to gain from this?

“It’s no trouble,” Bin tells him, reassuring him. He gives Myungjun a meek smile, and his hand falls back on Myungjun’s shoulder, soothing. He glances down at his hand, and instinctively pulls it away, the warmth of his smooth palm disappearing. He turns back to the car. “Front or back seat?”

“I’ll… Just go with Sanha,” Myungjun replies.

Bin nods, and steps around the back of the car. As Myungjun slithers into the backseat with his brother and helps him buckle in, Bin starts the car and pulls away from his car park. Bin’s car has smooth, comfortable seats, a radio that murmurs as they drive, and air-conditioning that blasts along Myungjun’s skin. His little brother sticks his fingers in the vents and feels the cool air over his arm, gawking. The car is sleek and stylish, and it seemed Moon Bin took a lot of pride in it.

Sanha chats with them both, about this and that, between Myungjun’s directions. When they eventually arrive home, Sanha politely thanks his teacher and slides out.

“Come inside,” Myungjun invites. “Tea, coffee, a snack?”

Bin raises his hand, dismissive, and it falls back onto the steering wheel. “No, you don’t have too. I’m fine, thank you.”

“How else am I supposed to thank you?” Myungjun asks, unclasping his belt. He glances out the window, where Sanha waits outside the apartment building, singing to himself. “Besides, Sanha wanted to show you his room, didn’t he?”

There’s a short, silent moment, where the man seems to reconsider. Bin turns his head over the back of the seat, “Tea sounds great,” he grins.

As the three of them step into the elevator, Myungjun finds himself wondering when the last time he and Sanha had a guest. It had been a long time, he supposes they haven’t had any guests since before Sanha could talk, when he still had friends. As the elevator doors huff open, he realises their home is quite messy – after all, it is Friday, and they save cleaning for the weekends.

“Shoot,” he whispers to himself, but both Sanha and Bin overhear.

“Language, MJ!” Sanha warns, a habit he’d adapted from his older brother. It makes Moon Bin laugh.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

Myungjun averts his gaze as they walk down the hall, “Well, I didn’t exactly expect you over… The house is a bit of a mess, I’m afraid,” he murmurs.

Bin chuckles heartily, “Don’t worry – I totally understand. You have a six-year-old living with you, after all. I don’t have an excuse!” The comment makes Myungjun laugh, puts him at ease a little as he unlocks their front door.

Sanha immediately tugs his teacher down the hall to his bedroom, and Myungjun moves to make him a tea. He can hear the two of them chatting quietly, their conversation spilling down the hall. The hum of the kettle fills the gaps in their sentences. Myungjun wonders how he was so lucky to have a teacher like Sanha’s there, taking care of his brother and, in turn, him.

He pulls a mug down from the cupboard and begins making Bin’s cup of tea. Sanha is telling him about his favourite toys, mentions the one on his bed he always sleeps with. That big, stuffed animal that he cradles in his arms, the plush their mother had given to him on the day of his birth – once bigger than him, it now fits in the bend of his elbow.

 _“MJ told me it’s special because our mummy got it for me,”_ He hears Sanha say, imagines Bin standing in the room and inspecting the toy, whose soft fluff had pilled and worn after six years.

 _“Your mum got it for you?”_ Bin asks.

Myungjun feels dread fill him, and he hurries down the hall with the hot mug of tea in his hand. Before Sanha can admit what happened, before Bin can ask any questions – Myungjun stops by the door and knocks politely. Moon Bin is settled on the floor, back leant up against Sanha’s bed frame. Matching his guess, he holds the stuffed toy in his hands.

“Your tea is ready,” Myungjun smiles sheepishly, settling it on Sanha’s bedside table. He can feel Bin’s stare, and wonders what questions Bin has, on the tip of his tongue. “I’ve got to go get ready for work… But, you’re welcome to any food, the television…”

Bin hands Sanha back his toy, accepting the mug into his hands. “Sanha and I are right to play, aren’t we?” He asks Sanha, who nods excitedly. “Sanha was showing me his action figures,” he smiles.

“Okay,” Myungjun nods. “Sanha, make sure to get Mr. Moon anything he needs, show him around, yeah?”

It’s not until Myungjun is finished getting ready, at five-past six, that he realises he hasn’t made Sanha any dinner. He feels panic swell in his throat – he hadn’t thought of it. Usually, after Sanha returned home from school, Myungjun would make him dinner and a snack, but with the events of the afternoon, it had completely slipped his mind.

He scrambles through the freezer for a microwave meal, boxes of food he’d always kept around in case they were in a pinch. He avoided these meals as often as he could, and he felt rather guilty shoving the block of ice into the oven.

This is where Bin finds him, sat in front of the oven and waiting for the meal to cook, hands stressing through his hair, pulling it back and away from his face. The man squats to his level on the floor, “What’s wrong?” He asks, the glow of the oven illuminating one side of his face.

“I forgot I had to make Sanha dinner, I forgot to make _myself_ dinner – I’m sure I can get the restaurant to feed me… But, with everything going on it slipped my mind, and now all I have are these stupid freezer meals, that he doesn’t even like, and I don’t really have the time for anything else, and--,”

“Hey, hey, whoa,” Bin mutters, pulling Myungjun’s hands away from his hair, ending his rambling rant. “Deep breath,” he murmurs. “I’m here.”

It felt strange to be coddled and comforted by someone, especially someone around his own age, someone he’d only met a few days ago – especially, after so long. For the last six years, Myungjun had done all the coddling and comforting, had never received any in return.

Bin pulls him up to his feet, one hand on his shoulder, where it falls for the third time this afternoon. He pushes Myungjun’s hair back down, restyling it the way it had been minutes ago.

“Look, uh,” he begins. “Let’s turn this off,” he says, and switches the oven off.

“What’re you doing?” Myungjun presses, turning the dial on the oven back on.

“Wait,” he murmurs, with a practiced patience. From being a primary school teacher – Myungjun feels embarrassed that he’s being given the same treatment Bin would to his own students. He bites the inside of his cheek. “How about… We drop you off to work, and I’ll come back and make Sanha dinner, and put him to bed. I’ll just wait for you to come back, yeah?”

The offer sounded lovely. It worked – Sanha got fed, Myungjun got to work. Sanha had, for once, someone to care for him. He processed this thought, wondered if it would be too selfish of him to accept another of Moon Bin’s heartfelt offers.

“You don’t have to wait around for Sanha. He’ll be fine on his own. He can… He can eat something out of the cupboard if he gets hungry,” he dismisses.

Moon Bin stills, cocking his head to the side. “You… Sanha stays here? While you’re at work?” His eyes are round, with surprise, or concern, or perhaps both – Myungjun is unsure. He nods in reply. “All by himself?”

His skin prickles a little. “Yes, he does. It’s not like I have much of a choice, Moon Bin,” he gripes, tugging himself from Bin’s gentle grasp. “I feel horrible about it, but it’s what I have to do, to make sure he’s fed. To make sure he can go to school…”

The other man nods, eyes softening. “Yeah – no, I get it. I totally understand. I was just surprised, is all. He’s a clever boy,” he assures. “I can take care of him tonight, though, if you want?”

Myungjun stills. “Why are you so adamant in helping me?” He asks, aware of how his voice crumbles at the end, desperate. _Why are you so adamant in helping me? Why are you the first person to try, in six years?_

“Why won’t you let someone help you?” Bin mumbles, inching forwards. “You don’t have to do this all on your own.”

Myungjun lets Bin’s words sit heavy on his mind. He glances at the clock on the wall, “Let’s just go,” he says, and calls Sanha into the kitchen. Gathering the boy up in his arms, he relays the new plans, “Mr. Moon is gonna come back and make you dinner, okay? And, he’ll help you go to bed. And, Mr. Moon will tell me if you don’t brush your teeth! Okay?”

Sanha excitedly nods, wrapping his arms around Myungjun’s neck. And, with that, the two adults leave, locking the door behind them. And, for the first time, Myungjun meets Moon Bin sans Sanha.

They make their way down to Bin’s car, where he’d left it, and this time, Myungjun climbs into the passenger seat. He punches the address into Bin’s GPS, and they begin their drive.

There was something about the atmosphere of a car, Myungjun thinks, that makes it so easy to confess. Perhaps it was because Bin could not look at him, had to focus on the road. Or, the fact that the radio would envelope their silences. He was not sure exactly what it was that made him so easily able to start, “I don’t know how I could possibly thank you for everything you’ve done for Sanha. For me.”

Bin slows for an orange-light, pulls to a halt as the red-light beams over them. “Didn’t I say? You owe me nothing.” His voice was calm, light, reassuring.

Myungjun plays with his fingers, “No one has ever thought to help me. To help _us_ ,” he admits. He feels Bin’s eyes on him, and feels them tug away as the light turns green and the car rolls onward. “I’m… A bit surprised, wary, even. Sorry, if I get a bit agitated about it…”

“It’s fine,” Bin smiles. “I just want to help out.” He turns around the corner, and Myungjun sees his bus at its stop. He’ll be earlier than usual. Bin is silent for a while, until he asks, “No one has ever helped you? No friends, family?”

Myungjun sighs. He’d never opened up to anyone like this before, but there was something about Bin that made him feel so comforted and calm. “No family – that I know of, anyway. I never met Sanha’s biological father. I don’t remember anything about my own. My mother was an only child, and her grandparents had passed away long before I was born,” he hums. Weights feel as if they’re sliding off his back, with each admission that falls from his lips.

“I had plenty of friends around the time Sanha was born. But, when our mother died, and I chose to care for him, my friends began to leave. Because I didn’t have time for them, and they didn’t have time for me.”

Bin purses his lips, “Your mother _died_?” He asks, cautiously. This was a question that never failed to fall from the lips of people Myungjun met. He supposes it’s genuine curiosity, a phrase of pity.

He nods. “She died; complications of child birth.” He watches Bin’s reaction from the corner of his eye, watches the man wince briefly. “She held Sanha for a while, and then, she died. It’s been a long time, but I suppose you never really get over that stuff,” he admits. “I was worried, when you were playing with Sanha today, that he’d tell you about it, and you might discuss it with him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sanha… He’s aware that our mother is dead. I just, I’ve never felt comfortable talking to him about it. I know I should, but I can never bring myself too.”

Bin nods. “It’s okay. He’s only young. One day, it will all be fine,” he smiles. He sounds so sure, and so reassuring, Myungjun can’t help but believe him.

Bin drops him off outside the restaurant, and Myungjun hands him the key to his apartment.

“Thank you for taking care of him, if only for tonight. And, for all your help,” he says, sliding out of the car.

The passenger window rolls down, and Bin peers out, “Why do you say it as if I’m going to stop?” He asks, and then his car rolls away, and out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how was it? leave a comment or you can find me on my SNS :)


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You had a rough day, hey, buddy?” He asks, petting his hair down.   
> The boy nods into his chest, coiling up against the warmth of his abdomen. “How’d you know?” He asks, glancing up at Myungjun with glistening, puffy eyes.  
> “Mr. Moon told me,” he mutters, and looks over at the man in the room, who is carefully cutting up fruit Myungjun didn’t know they had in the house. It was a sight of such sweet domesticity, it made Myungjun’s chest tighten a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a little shorter only bc the last chapter was so long... sorry!

He keeps a spare key in his wallet. Unlocking the door, he almost imagines the familiar, dark shell of their apartment, at this time of night. However, when he opens the door, there is a soft orange light sweeping out from the living room, and the gentle hum of the television playing.

He quietly shuts the door behind him, taking his shoes off. Making his way down the hall, he pokes his head into Sanha’s bedroom. However, the little boy is nowhere to be found, his stuffed animal strewn on the unkempt and empty bed, and the night-light he used so frequently is not on at all.

Creeping back down the hallway, he hangs his jacket up and peers into the living room. The television is playing re-runs of an old drama, one that Myungjun had thought to watch, but never had the time. The lamp is on in the corner of the room, light spilling over the couch, where Moon Bin sits.

And, there, curled up with his head on Bin’s lap, is Sanha. His cheek is squished up against Bin’s knee, a thin sliver of drool pooling on his jeans. His arms are wrapped around Bin’s legs, his starfish hands plastered to the man’s thighs. There’s a blanket tugged over his form, and Bin’s hand plays idly with the longer hairs on his head.

Bin startles when he sees Myungjun, a hand flying up to his chest. He grins, waving gently, then gesturing to the body slung over his legs and chuckling quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Myungjun whispers, crouching down by Bin’s lap and pushing the hair out of Sanha’s face. His lips are swollen into a pout, pressed up against his cheek that is squished against his teacher’s knee. He presses a few kisses over his face, pats his hair down.

Bin grins, “Stop apologising,” he replies, quietly. “Besides, I love the kid.”

“He drooled on your jeans.”

The man peers down at his lap, “Oh, damn, he did, too,” he mutters, but a smile cracks on his lips.

A thought crosses his mind. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but is Sanha your favourite student?” Myungjun grins, cheekily, peering up at the teacher.

Bin purses his lips, “We’re not supposed to have favourites, but we all do,” he flashes a grin, and pats Sanha’s back gently. Their eyes meet, and Bin’s are sparkling.

“Well, I should get the kid to bed, he’s had a long day,” Myungjun murmurs. He peels the blanket back and scoops the boy into his arms, holding him to his chest. Sanha stirs, whining gently at the change in positions, but he slips back to sleep as he nuzzles into Myungjun’s neck. “Did he brush his teeth?”

“Made sure of it,” Bin says, saluting playfully. “Ate dinner well. I made him a snack – a sandwich. We didn’t do any homework – neither of us felt like it,” he giggles, as they make their way to the front door.

“Thank you so much.”

“It was, honestly, my pleasure,” Bin says, as he tugs his shoes back on. He steps out into the hall. “If you ever need someone to care for Sanha again, just give me a shout.” Gently, he takes the handle of the front door, and shuts it behind him on his way out.

As Myungjun tucks his little brother into bed, wrapping his arms around the stuffed animal and switching his night-light on, he thinks of Mr. Moon.

Thinks of him, and wonders if it was selfish of him to make Moon Bin a fixture in their lives.

 

*

 

The time spent at work seems to drag on, and on. Myungjun’s forced smile is beginning to hurt his cheeks, and the repetitive beep of the scanning machines is making his head ache. His mind wanders, whenever the store is quiet, and wanders to Moon Bin.

Moon Bin, who loved his little brother. Who cared so easily for Sanha, and for Myungjun, too. Who _wanted_ to help, and seemed like he wanted to _stay_.

The thought, so foreign to Myungjun, made his mind whir.

“You’re on your break,” a co-worker says, gently pulling him out of his register bay, and out of his thoughts.

Myungjun hurries down into the breakroom, grabs his phone and a bite to eat, and sits at the table. There’s another co-worker in the room, a young kid who’d been skipping class to earn a bit more cash. Myungjun smiles at him, but the boy ignores him.

His phone has a missed call, from _Primary School_ , from about an hour ago. A message was left. Myungjun flips the phone open – a small flip phone was all he could afford to keep at the moment – and dials voicemail. There’s a long ring, before the automated voice of a robotic woman reads the time of the call to him. A beep follows, and then the message.

_“Hey, Myungjun.”_

It’s Bin. He sounds a little worried, voice a little tight. Myungjun swallows.

_“It’s me, Bin. Uh, I’m just calling, now that I can… There was another incident at school today, regarding Sanha…”_

Myungjun closes his eyes, takes a deep breath.

_“I was just wondering if you wanted to come pick him up, or if you wanted me to take him home when the day ends. I know you’re busy, and I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to do the wrong thing…_

_“He’s really upset. Please, call me back when you can._

_“I’ll see you later,”_ Bin says, and the line goes dead.

Myungjun wastes no time in dialling the elementary school, but when the dial tone ends and the line crackles to life, it is not Bin who picks up. Rather, a woman, who Myungjun has never spoken to before.

_“Hello?”_

“Uh, hi,” Myungjun fumbles over what he should say. “I… I got a call from Moon Bin about, uh, my little brother, and he told me to call him back.”

 _“When was this?”_ the woman asks. Her tone is light, sounds like her words are shaped around a smile.

“About an hour ago,” he replies.

 _“Class is on, right now, but I’ll put you through. Try not to be too long,”_ she says, and the line begins to ring again.

It’s not a minute later before the phone is picked up, and Bin’s voice murmurs down the line, calming. _“Hello? Moon Bin speaking.”_

“Bin, it’s Myungjun,” he says, and hears a sigh of relief.

 _“Myungjun, hey!”_ He chimes, voice quiet. _“You’re calling back, about Sanha, right?”_

Myungjun imagines Sanha, wonders how he is. Wonders if he’s watching Mr. Moon on the phone and knows it is his older brother he is talking too. “Yeah, how is he?”

 _“He’s… Fine. A little better now. He was pretty torn up,”_ he murmurs. _“I only called because I know you’re busy._ He _knows you’re busy. I didn’t want to add onto your plate. I’m happy to bring him home to you, after school.”_

Myungjun smiles softly, feeling a warmth settle in his chest at Bin’s consideration. “It’s okay, I’ll come pick him up. I have my job at the restaurant, anyway, so I don’t want you to have to wait around, again.”

_“Myungjun… You know it’s no bother for me! I enjoyed caring for Sanha…”_

He smiles, “Sanha enjoyed it, too.”

 _“Good,”_ Bin says, tone delighted. _“I’ll bring him to you, okay?”_

 

*

 

When Myungjun arrives home, the boys have already settled in. Sanha’s shoes are strewn by the front door, Bin’s side-by-side and neatly pressed against the wall. There’s a bubbling conversation in the kitchen, and when Myungjun peers inside, Bin is making Sanha plate of food. His little brother is talking animatedly about something he’d seen on television, when Myungjun makes himself present.

Sanha immediately leaps off the bench and bounds into Myungjun’s arms. Myungjun holds him close, squeezing his arms around his waist and kissing his cheek. The boy seems to meld with his touch, shaping around him and tucking into his body. “You had a rough day, hey, buddy?” He asks, petting his hair down.

The boy nods into his chest, coiling up against the warmth of his abdomen. “How’d you know?” He asks, glancing up at Myungjun with glistening, puffy eyes.

“Mr. Moon told me,” he mutters, and looks over at the man in the room, who is carefully cutting up fruit Myungjun didn’t know they had in the house. It was a sight of such sweet domesticity, it made Myungjun’s chest tighten a little. He hadn’t seen such a scene, or felt such an emotion, in a long time. Myungjun never felt like much of a father figure to Sanha, and he himself never had one. “I’m very grateful to him,” Myungjun concludes, and Bin smiles sheepishly, turning back to the fruit.

“Me, too,” Sanha murmurs, wriggling free from Myungjun’s grasp. He hurries to his teacher’s side, peeking over the edge of the countertop, “Is it ready, yet?” he asks, as Bin piles the cut-up fruit and a few crackers onto a plate.

“It most certainly is,” Bin hands him the plate, and the boy takes it in his hands, eagerly, a ‘thank you’ popping from his lips.

Myungjun ruffles his hair, “Why don’t you go enjoy that by the TV, yeah?” he asks, bending down to kiss Sanha’s forehead. The boy nods fervently, twisting on his heel and scurrying out of the kitchen. And, then, it’s just he and Moon Bin.

A momentary silence. Bin fills it, scratching the back of his head, “We bought fruit. Wasn’t sure what you had, and he asked for some… And, crackers.” He gestures to the opened box of crackers, some crumbs lining the benchtop where Sanha had been sitting.

“Where’s the receipt?” Myungjun asks, quietly, striding over to the cutting board, covered in various fruit juices.

Bin frowns, “The receipt? Why?”

“So I can pay you back,” Myungjun answers, dully, as if the answer were obvious.

The teacher shakes his head, beginning to clean up. “No need. My treat,” he grins, thin lips curling. He washes the chopping board under the tap and asks Myungjun where to put it.

Myungjun points to its place, pursing his lips. “You really are something special, Mr. Moon Bin,” he mutters, helping clean up. The man smiles in response, a pink blush painting the apples of his cheeks. “Any fruit left?”

“I’m selfish, I wouldn’t let him have _all_ of it,” Bin smiles, handing Myungjun the bowl of remaining fruit. “I love him, sure, but I don’t do a lot without selfish reason,” he says, eyes glinting as they make their way to the kitchen table. He’s watching Myungjun, as if waiting for something – but, as Myungjun takes a seat, he settles.

“I don’t have a lot of time to be selfish,” Myungjun replies, taking a bite out of the fruit. It’s sweet and cool, crisp between his teeth.

“Guess we’ll have to change that, then,” Moon Bin smiles.

Sanha responds aloud to something on the television, answering a question the cartoon character prompted. His mouth sounds full, and Bin chuckles lightly. Myungjun believes he has found a friend in his younger brother’s teacher. He enjoys the man’s company, and is ever so grateful for his presence. And, as much as he was enjoying having someone to talk to, someone who seemed to truly care for everything Myungjun had to offer, the man’s main reason for being here, was incidences at school.

“So…” Myungjun begins, chewing on his lip. “About today…”

Bin hums, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not supposed to call. But, I did – I had too,” he admits, clasping his hands together, playing with his knuckles. “I was worried that if _I_ didn’t say anything, Sanha wouldn’t, either.”

“What happened?”

As Bin recounts what he heard and saw, his face sags, with the weight of all that was happening.

Bullied. For his poorly trimmed hair. For his chubby cheeks and short stature. His peers tease him because no one drops him off, and no one picks him up. Because, his uniform is too big and droops off his shoulders. Because, he spends too much time with Mr. Moon – he’s a teacher’s pet, a goody-two-shoes.

Myungjun’s time in primary school has long been forgotten – though, he certainly remembers the cruelty of young children. Young children who don’t understand the bite of their words, who are learning how to spit nasty lines and spread rumours.

 “He came running into my room in tears. I just hugged him. He took a nap on my lap, and seemed to bounce back after the next class started. I felt horrible, all he wanted was you,” Bin murmurs.

Myungjun closes his eyes, “Children are cruel.”

“Children are cruel,” Bin agrees.

“Is there anything I can actually do? _We_ can actually do?”

“I’m trying my best to sort it out with the other kids. It’s just something that we’ll have to wait on, and see if it works.” Bin’s gaze falls on Sanha, in the room over, but Myungjun can’t look away from Moon Bin.

Moon Bin, who is opening up his world, who is dedicating his time and effort to Sanha and himself. Moon Bin, who stopped, and took a chance on Kim Myungjun. Moon Bin, who is finding a place in Myungjun’s heart, that he once thought only had room for Sanha.

He had found a friend in Moon Bin. He had found someone to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys know where you can find me :) i love reading all your comment and it makes me so happy!! im just wondering if i should shorten the gap between chapters? maybe uploading once a week instead??


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I…” He pulls his hand away. “I don’t want you to leave,” he bashfully admits, hiding the red-hand behind his back.
> 
> A gentle smile eases onto Bin’s face, growing steadily into a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted early for my dear seal who i love so much i know it cant make up for everything but i hope it makes your day a lil brighter i lov u honey

_Took Sanha home. See you soon._

Bin sends a text message in the afternoon, complete with a small smiley face. Myungjun climbs onto the bus, pursing his lips.

Whenever Bin took Sanha home these days, it was because he’d been bullied, again. Knowing he couldn’t protect Sanha, and was, in some way, the leading reason for Sanha’s misfortune – it made his heart hurt.

However, Moon Bin had been there through it all. Had been a wonderful helping hand, a listening ear, a watchful gaze. Perhaps there was some guilt that had been born in Myungjun, for feelings that had evolved for the man. He could not help it – Bin cared about them – who else had, in the last near-seven years?

_Is everything okay? I’m starting my shift at the restaurant early. Need the cash… You can leave if you want._

He responds, clicking the buttons below the screen.

_Everything is fine, Sanha just wanted to hang out._

Myungjun breathes a sigh of relief as the text arrives on his screen.

_I’ll stay. See you tonight!_

He flips the phone shut, holding it to his chest. Sanha was okay. Bin would be there.

Everything was easier, these days.

He receives no messages during work; on the bus ride home, he wonders how the two are. Myungjun unlocks the door to the apartment, shuffling inside. The house is oddly silent, no murmur or utter. Strange – Myungjun thinks – he was sure he’d seen Bin’s car parked on the curb outside. He tugs off his shoes, and hangs his coat up.

Myungjun feels a little giddy, at the familiarity of Bin’s shoes by the door, his coat hung up beside Sanha’s.

He pokes his head into Sanha’s room. Empty, just like it had been on the first night Bin had cared for the boy during Myungjun’s shift. With this in mind, he turns down the hall, moving toward the living room.

The television is playing on mute, an animated children’s program progressing silently. When Myungjun sticks his head in the room, this time, Bin doesn’t acknowledge him. Is unable to, because he’s asleep.

Bin and Sanha are pressed into the cushions of the couch. Bin’s back against the back of the couch, long body stretched over the small love seat, legs dangling off the end. Sanha is nuzzled into his chest, clutching onto his t-shirt with his small fists, snoring lightly against him. Their eyelids flutter, dreams playing like film reels in their minds.

Myungjun engraves the sight in his memory, every detail. The way one of Bin’s arms settles over Sanha’s back, the way the little boy breathes, his whole body shifting with his deep breaths. The way Bin’s face is squashed into the couch cushion, his cheek folding up slightly, and the way Sanha’s chubby fist is clutched around Bin’s shirt, knuckles whitening.

Delightful domesticity. More and more, Moon Bin was becoming a charm of domestic bliss, a family figure – sans title, and toothbrush in the bathroom pot.

Though a beautiful sight, Myungjun knows they must be uncomfortable.

Myungjun gently unravels Bin’s t-shirt from Sanha’s hand, carefully taking the boy in his arms. Sanha’s breathing stutters, before he sighs, melting into Myungjun’s side. He carefully carries the boy to his own bed and tucks him in, flicking on his night-light in case he wakes in the middle of the night.

Creeping back into the living room, he bends to the seat of the couch, eyes level with Bin’s closed and flickering lids. He pushes the man’s hair back and out of his face, “Bin, wake up,” he whispers. The man does not shift, barely budges in his place. He looks so peaceful, so pristine as he rests.

How was he to wake him up without shaking him awake? His skin looks soft and clear. Myungjun smooths his palm over the curve of Moon Bin’s face, feels the rough of his shaved face beneath his fingertips. “Binnie, it’s time to wake up,” he murmurs, a little louder.

The man curls further into the couch cushions, arm smoothing out over the empty space in front of him. He wakes with a start, palm patting at the warm patch of couch where Sanha had been sleeping beside him. “Sanha?” He asks, a loll of panic in his tone. He blinks, his mind recalibrating as his gaze falls on Myungjun. Suddenly, a sleepy, dazed smile falls on his lips, eyes a little puffy. “Myungjun,” he murmurs.

“There you are,” Myungjun replies, resting his elbow on the couch as Bin rubs the sleep from his eyes.

“Sorry, I fell asleep,” he says, voice slightly gravelly. “Where’s Sanha?”

Myungjun grins. Bin’s first worry was _Sanha_ , his first thought was _Sanha_. “I just put him to bed,” he whispers. He keeps the image of them held closely together to himself, a covert, personal memory.

The other man bats his sleepy eyelashes, sitting up a little further. He reaches for his glasses, strewn on the coffee table, and slips them over his nose. He shifts sluggishly, unfurling and stretching out like a cat. They chat in whispers, as Myungjun helps him pack up his things. Bin tells him all the things they did at school, the shows Sanha forced him to watch, the homework they worked on together.

Bin’s backpack is at his feet when they stop at the coatrack, by the door. The taller man reaches to pull his coat off the rack, where it sits with Myungjun’s, and Sanha’s tiny one. It reminds him, briefly, of the rack in his mother’s kitchen, with his coats that would always change in size and her classic, long coat that was falling apart at the seams with age.

It fills his mind with a foggy nostalgia. Myungjun can’t help but to reach his arm out, to stop the warm jacket from leaving the other two behind. Bin peers at the hand wrapped around his wrist quizzically, then down at Myungjun.

“I…” He pulls his hand away. “I don’t want you to leave,” he bashfully admits, hiding the red-hand behind his back.

A gentle smile eases onto Bin’s face, growing steadily into a grin. He hooks it back onto the rack, before leaning forward and collecting Myungjun in his arms. He gasps, unsure of what to do as he’s nuzzled into the heat of Bin’s chest. Myungjun racks his brain for the last time someone other than Sanha had given him such nurturing affection.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” Bin says, as he pulls away, and walks out the door.

He leaves his coat on the coatrack, to collect the next day.

 

*

 

True to his word, Bin returns in the morning, the jacket his excuse for his arrival. Even so, he leaves it behind, once more. He drops Myungjun off at work, and takes Sanha to school.

Somehow, it becomes a ritual. And, soon enough, they stop needing excuses to see each other.

 

*

 

Bin doesn’t visit every afternoon, has his own schedule to follow. Sometimes, Myungjun still has to pick Sanha up from the bus stop – which he doesn’t mind so much, anyway. It gives them time for themselves, makes him realise how helpful Bin has been, allows him to reflect on this newfound importance in their lives.

Sanha bounds off the bus, school hat hanging from the string around his neck. He jumps into Myungjun’s arms, where he is bent to the ground to meet Sanha’s short height, standing between his legs. Myungjun kisses his forehead – a little sticky beneath his lips, but he was used to it – and asks, “How was your day?”

“Good!” Sanha answers, “We did lots of writing.”

Myungjun rises, taking Sanha’s hand in his own. His little brother skips along beside him as they make their way back to their apartment, detailing his day. As Myungjun unlocks the apartment and Sanha moves to take off his shoes, he asks, “Where’s Mr. Moon?”

He helps Sanha take his coat off, helps him untie a particularly tricky knot in his laces, “Mr. Moon can’t come this afternoon, he has work to do,” Myungjun tells him, unravelling the double-knot.

The boy pouts, baby-pink bottom lip popping out. “I wanted him to come over,” he whines.

“Me, too, baby,” Myungjun says, earnestly, patting his hair and kissing his forehead. “Come on,” he beckons, grabbing Sanha’s bag. “Let’s get you started on your homework, and I’ll start making dinner.”

The boy promptly follows, book bag in his hands. He settles at the kitchen table as Myungjun pulls things from the cupboard and fridge. He sets to cooking, listening to Sanha babble to himself as he works. A cloud of steam rises from the pan as Sanha calls for him, and Myungjun pulls it off the heat.

“MJ?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I wish Mr. Moon could stay here all the time,” he says, twirling a pencil around between his two palms.

Myungjun stills for a moment, “Why, getting tired of your older brother?” He jokes, grinning at Sanha, who smiles back.

“Never,” he says, and drops his pencil into the spine of his book. “I just… I like it when he’s here.”

When Moon Bin is here, the atmosphere is brighter, more carefree. When Moon Bin is here, Sanha has time to enjoy the tranquillity of mind that belongs to youth. When Moon Bin is here, everything is easier, lovelier.

“Me, too,” he agrees, simply, and begins plating up Sanha’s dinner. He sets it before the boy. “Eat up, darling. I’ll put your snack in the fridge, and make sure you br-,”

“Brush my teeth,” Sanha interrupts, grinning. “Always,” he answers.

Myungjun bends down, pecking his head, smoothing his hand over the base of his skull. “You’re such a good boy. You’re growing up,” he remarks.

Sanha perks up, “Did I grow? Am I taller?”

The older boy giggles. “I don’t think so, baby. I’ll measure you on the weekend, okay?” Sanha nods. “Alright, I’ve got to go to work. I’ll see you in the morning!” He says, and presses a few kisses over Sanha’s chubby cheeks. The boy squeals in delight, squirming away from Myungjun’s affection with bubbling giggles that erupt from his small figure.

Myungjun locks the door on the way out, waits for Sanha to slide the chain lock shut on the opposite side, before leaving the building. On the bus, he sends Bin a text, lets him know Sanha is thinking of him. His shift passes rather quickly, with few incidents, and soon enough, he’s back home again.

The television is still on. The lights in the kitchen and living room are still on. Surprised, Myungjun ignores his usual routine and steps into the lounge area first, where the TV is playing reruns of old cartoons Myungjun had watched as a child. Sanha is bent over the coffee table, pens and pencils strewn about beneath him, and his cheek pressed into the surface.

He sleeps as quietly and innocently as a child does, sleeps the same as he did as a newborn, in silence and stillness. His thick, black hair fans out over his face, shifting with every outward breath. In one hands, he clutches a red pencil, hand posed as if he were about to draw on the paper beneath him.

Myungjun grins, taking the pencil from his hand and putting it back in his pencil case. He carefully lifts the boy up from his spot on the ground, only for the boy to whine and coil into his arms. “Oh, baby, I know. You must have been uncomfortable, asleep on the floor like that,” he murmurs, and feels a minute nod against his neck. “Come on, let’s get you into bed…”

Sanha sleepily tugs his pyjamas on and falls into the bed, and Myungjun takes the opportunity rarely handed to him to tuck the boy in. He carefully settles the boy beneath the duvet and smooths his hair back, tucking the blanket along the boy’s sides and over his chest. He pushes the stuffed animal in Sanha’s arms and bends down, pressing a kiss to the boy’s forehead.

“MJ, goodnight,” Sanha whispers, one of his little hands patting at Myungjun’s arm.

“Goodnight, Sanha. I love you,” he replies.

“I love you, too,” Sanha murmurs, and just like that, sleep pulls him under. Myungjun sneaks to the other side of the room and turns his nightlight on, before creeping out and back into the living room.

Packing away Sanha’s mess of school supplies, Myungjun comes across what Sanha had been working on before he’d fallen asleep. The paper Sanha had been laying on had a crude drawing in the very centre of the two-dimensional canvas, of three figures – two tall, and one small, in the middle.

Myungjun recognises Sanha’s expressionistic drawing capabilities, his odd impression of the human structure. He identifies Sanha’s own figure, set between the two taller figures, labelled in messy handwriting, _MJ_ and _Mr. Moon_. There’s a love heart that hovers above them all, vibrant and red and swollen.

Their stringy arms are connected by their inflated hands, Sanha smiling so widely the triangle of his lips stretch past the boundaries of his face. Myungjun and Bin have a matching set of smiles, just as wide and just as joyful.

Myungjun grins, running his fingers over the indents in the page, created by Sanha’s hard and amateur lines. What did Sanha imagine of them? What did Sanha imagine of his life? Is this where he believes Moon Bin is best fit, set with them, side-by-side?

With no trace of apprehension, Myungjun takes the pencil drawing and tucks it into his bedside table drawer; his precious secret.

 

*

 

Moon Bin visits a few days later, and helps Myungjun make dinner before his shift. Myungjun’s petite apron is wound around Bin’s waist, fastened into a delicate bow on the small of his back, the bottom of the apron grazing the top of his thighs. Myungjun stifles as giggle, slicing onions and throwing them into the sizzling pan.

The other man carefully cuts up the raw chicken, humming along to an unheard song, the pair wading through a comfortable silence. It’s when Bin pushes the chicken into the pan when he decides to talk, leaning against the counter. “What do you say…” He begins, chewing on the plush of his bottom lip. Myungjun glances at him. “What do you say we go to a restaurant?”

Myungjun halts, raising an eyebrow.

“The three of us – you, me, Sanha,” Bin explains. He bears a wide grin, set proudly on his lips.

Smiling bashfully at the taller man, Myungjun denies, “It sounds lovely, but… I don’t know, Bin. I don’t really have the time – or, money – for going out to eat,” he admits, shaking the pan with one hand and rearranging the steaming food inside.

Bin stands his ground, “Sunday night? It’s on me. Just the three of us,” he mutters, his smile shrinking a little, less sure and a little more _hopeful_.

A sigh, “Why?” Myungjun spills some of the contents from the pan onto the bench.

Retrieving a cloth, Bin swipes away at the spill. “When was the last time you let yourself have fun?”

Myungjun purses his lips, unsure how to answer. What would Bin define as _fun_? How could he answer in a way that would make Bin satisfied? The idea of going out for dinner was surely tempting, something Myungjun had not done in, perhaps, all six years of Sanha’s life.

With Bin around, though pleasurable, Myungjun wonders just how much more he is to discover that he’s missed out on.

“What’s Sanha to do?” Myungjun asks, giving in. “He can’t exactly sit still.”

Bin grins, “It’d be a family restaurant. There’ll be a playground, and probably a pack of crayons at the table.” He cleans the cloth under the tap. “I wouldn’t make any plans without thinking of him, Myungjun,” he says, quietly. Myungjun’s heart thumps in his chest.

“So,” he says. “Sunday night?”

“I’ll pick you both up,” Bin replies, eyes shining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yuhh so ill probably change updates to a week otherwise this gonna be a long ass story


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I really like Sanha.”
> 
> “I really like him, too.”
> 
> “I really like you.”
> 
> “I really like you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey i hope you like this chapter ahuhuhuhuuu

“Sanha, baby, go answer the door.”

“Who is it?” the boy asks him, fiddling with one of the buttons on his shirt.

“It’ll be Mr. Moon, dear,” Myungjun replies. A second later, he hears the chain lock slip open and Moon Bin’s voice spilling down the hall. “Bin, hey!” He calls, and hears the man’s footsteps follow the sound of his voice.

Bin pops his head into the bathroom, grinning. His glasses adorn his nose, a rare accessory. Along his abdomen is a classy button-up shirt, rolled up to the elbows, a little tight around the girthy stretch of his muscles. Myungjun’s eyes flicker away, and he swallows.

“You look nice,” Bin says, as Myungjun styles his hair, fluffing it up a little at the top.

“As do you,” he replies, and Bin smirks at him through the reflection of the mirror. Sanha is dancing at their feet, asking dozens of questions about where they were headed, what they would do. Asking why they would go out, even though it’s dark outside. _The restaurant_ , Bin replied, and Sanha gawked.

Myungjun fixes the boy’s hair and scoops him into his arms, hoisting him onto his hip as they exit the apartment and head down to Bin’s car. He clips Sanha’s seatbelt over his little body and moves around the car to the passenger seat, as Bin starts the car. There is a gentle conversation filtering through the car as they drive to their destination, a comfortable atmosphere once foreign to Myungjun.

They park a short distance from the restaurant, and Sanha excitedly jumps out of the car and down the street. “Sanha,” Myungjun calls, as he steps out, “Wait for us, please!” The boy waits patiently on the centre of the pathway, drowned in the light of the bright orange street lamp.

He joins his brother under the light of the lamp, taking his small hand within his own. Bin locks his car behind him as he joins them on the pavement, grinning. Myungjun watches, silently, as Sanha asks to take his hand, and Bin happily obliges.

He recalls Sanha’s drawing, tucked away in his bedside drawer, of the three of them strung together by their hands, just like now. He wonders, briefly, if Sanha has realised this coincidence, and if he is happy with the outcome. Myung realises that _he_ is happy.

The streets are quiet and all their own as they approach the restaurant, which bubbles with laughter and conversation and overflows with a happy atmosphere, light and humour spilling out onto the pavement before them. Bin invites them inside and checks their reservation, and they’re shortly lead to a table.

A short waitress brings them cups of water, asks Sanha if he’d like some pencils. He glances at Myungjun, who nods, before turning back to the waitress, “Yes, please.” The woman grins and skitters away, promptly returning with a colouring sheet and a small box of pencils. Sanha immediately gets to work, his clumsy hand dragging colour across the page.

Eventually, the waitress returns with a small notepad, and begins to take their orders. Myungjun stares down at the prices, with a few too many 0’s at the end, and tries to hide his surprise. He fumbles over the cheapest options, which don’t sound entirely appealing nor filling.

A hand falls to his shoulder, “Myungjun,” he says, quietly, smiling softly. “You can pick whatever you like.”

“It’s all too expensive,” he admits, shutting the menu on his fingers.

Bin pulls it open again, “Don’t worry about it, Myungjun. Think of it as a gift.”

He had already received so many gifts from Bin – he wants to argue, but Bin’s gaze is so gentle and reassuring, he nods softly.

Dinner begins and carries on with delightful conversation. Sanha joins in, too, though turns back to his colouring whenever the conversation twists into a topic he doesn’t understand. Soon, he decides to play in the play-space, and toddles away from the table, leaving the two men alone.

It wasn’t very often they spent time alone. Sanha was their reason for meeting, had initially been their excuse to see each other again and again. There was a slight shift in the atmosphere, when they were alone – a youthful, freeing atmosphere.

Myungjun takes a sip of his wine, feels the innate warmth of it at the back of his throat, rolling into his stomach. The man opposite him raises his glass, and they clink them together, the gentle ting sounding aloud. “To… Fun,” Myungjun says.

“To freedom?” Bin suggests, holding the glass before his face, ready to take another sip.

The red wine swirls in the bottom of his glass, staining it a velvety red. “To us,” he adds, and admires the way Bin’s grin stretches between his cheeks.

 _Us?_ Myungjun wonders. ‘Us’, as in the three of them, as friends? ‘Us’, as in the three of them, as a family? Or, ‘us’, as in the two of them, alone? He admires all three options, and after a moment of consideration, decides his favourite.

A family.

He had never had a complete family, always had a member missing, like a puzzle that has lost a corner piece. Though, this family he imagines in his head now would not be the most conventional – would not be the family his childhood yearned for – but it would be the most perfect.

Myungjun had fallen in love – though without intention and surely an accident. He had fallen in love with Moon Bin.

He feels a warm weight on his hand, and his eyes flicker down to the table, where Bin’s hand folds over his. “What are you thinking about?” The man asks, his index finger swirling around the swell of Myungjun’s knuckles.

He shrugs, a tiny smirk set on his lips. He wonders how to respond, what he can say as an excuse. Decides there was no point. “Us,” he confesses, eyes turning toward the man opposite him.

“What about us?” Bin asks, his fingers slipping under Myungjun’s, taking his hand within his own.

A grin slithers onto Myungjun’s lips. “Just that… I’m so happy.”

 

*

 

The noise in the restaurant slowly dissipates as other families and guests begin to leave. The breeze is warm as it skips over the three of them, stepping out into the night. Perhaps it was the touch of warm alcohol swimming in his veins, but the night feels so calm and tranquil, Myungjun relishes in his first taste of freedom in years. He views the world through rose-tinted glasses, this evening.

Sanha is invigorated after going out for dinner for the first time in his life, playing with children on the playground and making temporary friendships. He bounces out of the restaurant and down the pavement, always a few steps ahead of the two men, who watch him skip around under orange streetlights.

“I really like Sanha,” Bin says, into the silence. Myungjun peers up at him, at his soft features and gentle eyes, at the lines engraved around his mouth from years of smiling. Sanha is attempting to read an advertisement on the wall of a bus stop. Moon Bin is grinning, a gleaming smile on his lips.

“I really like him, too,” Myungjun jokes, lightly, because ‘really like’ couldn’t even begin to define how dear Sanha was to his heart.

“I really like you,” Bin continues, and this time he’s looking down at Myungjun, eyes wide and full of hope. They don’t stop walking, continuing to stroll down the path, feeling the breeze encompass them.

“I really like you, too,” Myungjun chuckles, because ‘really like’ couldn’t even begin to define how dear _Bin_ was to his heart.

A grin cracks over the man’s face like a firework; sudden, glittering, captivating. His eyes sparkle, his hand pulling Myungjun’s into his and swaying it between them. “Really?” He asks, quietly.

“Really, really,” Myungjun nods. He cannot help the giggle that tumbles out of him, the fuzzy feeling inside of him bubbling up. He is a little lost, a little confused, unsure how to react to such a confession of affection, something that has never been given to him in all twenty-four years of his life. Myungjun focuses on the feeling of Bin’s hand wrapped around his own, guiding him down the path.

The rest of their walk continues in silence, Myungjun almost unable to say anything at all, as he helps Sanha into the backseat of Bin’s car. His little brother, having exhausted his energy on the walk to the car, is lulled to sleep by the journey. Little moon face pressed up against the window, his cheek squashed against the door. Myungjun watches Bin’s eyes flutter toward the rear-view mirror, watching the little boy sleep peacefully.

The radio hums softly, filling the soothing silence of the car. Bin’s hand finds purchase in Myungjun’s, resting on the console. He glances over at Myungjun, eyes sparkling and smile sweet. There’s an emotion in his gaze Myungjun had not seen before, not in him nor anyone else he’d ever known – something affectionate, something raw.

They pull to a stop at a red light. Bin is bathed in the pink glow of the lights outside, his skin tinted that sweet romantic colour. Myungjun watches his lips shape around the words, “Did you really mean it?” He asks. “Back there, on the walk…”

Myungjun squeezes Bin’s hand, “Yes, I really did mean it.”

The light turns green. Bin pushes his foot down on the accelerator, a beaming grin on his lips.

It’s Bin who carries Sanha inside, hoisting the boy up on his chest. He snuggles into the man’s neck, his short arms wrapping around the ring of his shoulders. Myungjun helps him inside, taking the boy from his arms and carrying him to bed. Quickly, he tucks Sanha into his pyjamas and into bed, switching on his nightlight, leaving a kiss on his chubby cheeks. When he turns to leave, Bin is waiting for him, leant against the doorframe, a gentle grin on his face.

“What?” Myungjun asks him, as he steps out of his brother’s room, shutting the door gently behind him and ushering Bin away.

Bin stops halfway down the hall, taking Myungjun by his elbows and drawling him closer into his body. He smells of oak, and roses, a strange yet intoxicating cologne on his collarbones. His body is warm, comforting, drawing him closer without thought. “You’re beautiful,” Bin replies, taking a strand of Myungjun’s hair and pushing it out of his eyes.

He isn’t sure how to react. His immediate response has him curling away, red face and beaming grin hidden behind his hands, as Bin chuckles gently at him, arms reaching out to pull him closer once more. “Don’t run away,” he whispers, once Myungjun’s chest is pressed against his again.

Bin is staring down at him, and Myungjun can’t help but trace his features, memorising each mesmerising detail. The subtle curve of his lips, the broad length of his nose, the taper of his eyes – each aspect of his face truly unique and beautiful. He feels caught up, in a feeling he’d longed to feel since he was in his early teens, a feeling he’d forgotten one could feel, a feeling he thought he was not allowed to have, would never be allowed to have.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers, caution on his tongue. When was the last time he shared a kiss with someone? He wonders. When was the last time he liked someone this much?

Bin nods, silent permission, though Myungjun does not lean in. Bin cranes his neck down, sweeping Myungjun up onto the tips of his toes, taking his lips between his own. Bin’s lips taste of the wine they’d sipped at dinner, of the chocolate mousse they’d had for dessert. Myungjun’s head feels as if it is spinning. His cheeks burn, his lips and the tips of his fingers and toes tingle. He wonders if he’s doing okay.

They part, rather quickly, a grin so wide on Bin’s lips it interrupts their first kiss. Myungjun falls back onto his heels, “Wow,” he whispers, with a huff of breath, holding a hand to the heart that is hammering in his chest.

“Indeed,” Bin agrees, and presses a light kiss to Myungjun’s cheek. Myungjun feels a ribbon of tension in his chest unravel; he did well.

Myungjun’s hand rests upon the taller man’s shoulder. “So, what now?” He asks, quietly.

“Well, I guess this is the part where I ask if you want to be my boyfriend,” Bin admits, hands falling to the space just above Myungjun’s hips. “What do you say?”

“How can I say no?”

A giggle bubbles from Bin at the answer, and he bends down and brings their lips together once more. This time, they take the time to find their fit, to explore this new sensation. Myungjun grips onto the fabric of Bin’s shirt, holding on tight. Bin hums, a sigh of satisfaction, a gentle pulse against Myungjun’s lips.

“I want you to stay,” Myungjun whispers, request curling into the night, against Bin’s wet lips.

Their noses brush against each other. Myungjun feels so warm. “I want to stay, too,” Bin replies, eyes falling shut. His fingers trace patterns into Myungjun’s back.

“Don’t go.”

“I have too,” he says, and begins to shrug off his coat. He turns, hanging it on the coat rack. “Here. Like tradition. I’ll be here in the morning.”

“You’ll come back?”

“I’ll always come back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cry @me i crave it


	7. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The following weeks are much the same, Myungjun and Bin dancing around Sanha in attempts to hide their relationship, fresh and new and a little clumsy. They kiss behind doors, confess in whispers when Sanha has left the room. Myungjun begins to feel like he’s hiding a dirty secret, from the person most important to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey im back with a new chap and also im a stressed gyal its my holidays but a bitch still got three assignments :o

The doorbell rings the following morning. Sanha is on his tip-toes on the bathroom stool, inspecting a new wobbly tooth on his lower jaw. Myungjun is watching, nerves twisting in his stomach as Sanha takes the pearly white between his fingers and pulls – when the ring of the bell sounds, and Myungjun’s nerves explode into fluttering butterflies. “I’ll go get it,” he tells Sanha. “Don’t touch your tooth until I come back,” he warns, ruffling his hair, and stepping out of the bathroom.

He takes a deep breath as he stops by the door, collecting his thoughts as he swings it open. There, in the hall, is Moon Bin, grinning so widely his face might split. Myungjun feels his strength wilt away, feels his knees go weak. “Good morning,” Bin says, stepping forward.

Myungjun throws his arms around the taller man, standing on the tips of his toes. “Good morning,” he repeats, as one of Bin’s arms snakes around his waist. With his free hand, he guides Myungjun’s chin upwards, pressing a kiss to his lips. “You’re earlier than usual,” he comments, pulling Bin inside.

“I wanted to see you,” the taller man says, standing in the doorway. “How are you?”

“Happy,” Myungjun responds, grinning up at him.

A flurry of patting footsteps echo down the hall. “Who is it?” Sanha’s curious voice calls, drawing closer. “Is it Mr. Moon?”

Myungjun quickly pulls away from Bin, brushing off his shirt, as if Bin had left a mark. He had not told Sanha of the development in their relationship, was unsure how he’d react. Was worried that he’d see Myungjun, or his own teacher, in a new light. Was worried he would not understand, as there had never been anyone more than just the two of them. He didn’t want to get his hopes up – Sanha’s, nor his own.

Sanha bounds toward the door, and into Bin’s arms. Myungjun notices the crease of confusion on Bin’s face, a fault line of misunderstanding. It quickly fizzles away as he grins, taking Sanha into his arms, “Good morning, Sanha,” he says, “Gosh, you’re getting too big for me to carry around these days!”

“I’m a big boy, now,” Sanha tells him, “I’m almost seven, and I’m going to lose another tooth!” He chimes, showing Bin his loose tooth once he is securely on the ground.

“Sanha, have you packed your school bag?” Myungjun asks, changing the topic. Sanha shakes his head, and quickly scurries away.

Once alone, Bin turns to him, “You didn’t tell him?” He whispers under his breath.

Myungjun pulls him further into the house, into the kitchen. Sanha’s lunch is half-made, the kitchen counter a mess. Myungjun chews on his lip, “I wasn’t sure what to say. I wasn’t sure how he’d react,” he murmurs. He runs a hand through his hair.

Bin purses his lips, humming. He takes a step closer to Myungjun, pulling his warm arms around him again, supplying comfort so foreign, yet so satisfying to Myungjun.

“It has never been more than the two of us,” he whispers. “This is new, to both of us.”

“We can wait,” Bin replies, pressing a kiss to Myungjun’s forehead. “We don’t have to say anything until you’re ready. Besides, it’s only day two. _We_ have to get used to this, first,” he smirks, lips curling up sweetly.

“I’ll try for as soon as possible,” Myungjun replies, pulling himself up onto the tips of his toes, pecking Bin on the lips. “Now, will you help me make Sanha’s lunch? It’ll get done faster that way.”

Bin immediately nods, chopping at the vegetables on the bench, sorting them into Sanha’s lunch box. Myungjun can’t help but soak up the sight, of the sweet domesticity Bin supplied, that he adored. It felt different, now – felt like they were working together instead of for one another.

Once Sanha’s bag is packed, Bin offers to brush his hair. Sanha stands at his feet, and Bin diligently brushes through the tangles of Sanha’s thick bed hair, apologising whenever it hurt. Myungjun watches in silence, drinking in the sweet sight. Wondering, to himself, how he got so lucky.

The following weeks are much the same, Myungjun and Bin dancing around Sanha in attempts to hide their relationship, fresh and new and a little clumsy. They kiss behind doors, confess in whispers when Sanha has left the room. Myungjun begins to feel like he’s hiding a dirty secret, from the person most important to him.

He believed it was important to share things with Sanha, to avoid keeping secrets. He wanted to be someone Sanha could always come to, could always trust – if he was keeping secrets of his own, then they would never achieve an equality.

Sanha had already kept so much from him. He didn’t want to be left out like that, anymore.

His little brother rests on his tummy on the living room floor, an old action figure clutched in his hand. He plays with its arms and legs, creating a story only for himself. Bin is hanging his coat up on the coat rack, when Myungjun turns to him. “I have to tell him.”

“What?” Bin asks, brows furrowed.

“I have to tell Sanha. About us,” he clarifies.

Bin sweeps some of the hair away from his forehead, smoothing his thumbs over the apple of his cheeks, Myungjun’s face held gently in his palms. “Are you sure?” He whispers. “You don’t have too, yet.”

“I need him to know. You wouldn’t understand,” Myungjun dismisses, tugging on Bin’s hand, but Bin is not moving.

“Make me understand,” he requests, voice calm and gentle. “You can’t shut me out like that, Myungjun. I want to know what you’re thinking. I want us to make the right decisions, together.”

Myungjun stills. Bin was right – they were working together, now, weren’t they? They needed to be on the same page.

He takes a deep breath, “Sanha kept so much from me, remember? I don’t want him to feel like he can’t tell me things. And, I can’t expect him to tell me everything if I don’t tell him what’s going on in _my_ life,” he answers. “You are part of our life, now, and I want Sanha to understand that.”

Bin nods, smiling gently. “Are you worried about his reaction?”

“A little. I’m nervous.”

Bin kisses his forehead. “Don’t be,” he whispers. “Everything will be okay.”

His voice, a tranquil declaration, calms Myungjun down. He pushes his head into Bin’s chest, breathes in his modest musk, feels tension drain from his body. Bin’s arms pull securely around his back, lifting him into his warmth. Myungjun found such peace and clarity in him, such support and affection – something he had not felt since he was young.

Of course, Bin shares it in a different way than his mother had. But, the emotion, so raw and true, is but the same.

“You go,” Bin starts.

“Come with me.”

“This is a time for you and Sanha,” he reminds, untangling himself from Myungjun’s body. “Go,” he urges, pressing one last kiss to Myungjun’s cheek. “I’ll join you, later.” He draws away into the kitchen, and like that, Myungjun is alone.

He tiptoes into the living room where Sanha is still playing, dragging a worn out and squeaking match box car across the floor. “Sanha?” he calls, a little apprehensively. The boy cranes his neck over to look at Myungjun, rolling over onto his side. “Can I join you?”

His little brother’s brows knit together momentarily, but he shuffles over nonetheless, handing Myungjun a few of his toys. They play peacefully for a few short minutes, before Myungjun finally decides to begin the conversation.

“Hey, Sanha,” he mutters, making the doll in his hands skip towards the action figure in Sanha’s grasp. “How much do you like Mr. Moon?”

Sanha grins at him, “I _really_ like Mr. Moon! I like it when he visits and we play together,” he tells him, taking the doll from Myungjun’s hands and setting it down beside his action figure. “I’m really glad he’s your friend.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because, when you spend time together, I get to play with him,” he answers, a small smile on his lips. He blinks up at Myungjun, eyes wide and innocent.

“Sanha,” Myungjun says, sitting up a little. “You know, Mr. Moon is like my _best friend_ , and he’s been helping us out a lot lately,” he starts, and Sanha mirrors him, moving to sit up. “But, we like each other a little bit more than best friends. Sometimes, when you like someone a bit more than a best friend, things change a little bit.” Myungjun stumbles along, unsure how to go about this conversation.

“How?”

“Uh,” Myungjun murmurs. “You know how the kids at school… Minhyuk, your friend Minhyuk. He has two dads, right? Who… Who love each other in a special way?” Sanha nods, his tiny boyish figure shifting closer to him, sensing Myungjun’s struggling. “Well, they’re like… They are people who like each other a little bit more than best friends… Just like Mr. Moon and I….”

Brows furrowing again, Sanha scans Myungjun’s face. “MJ,” he whispers, eyes suddenly blowing wide. “Do you have a crush on Mr. Moon?” He asks, gawking.

He blushes, scoffing a little in surprise. Had he known Sanha understood the feeling of romance in others and the concept of a crush, Myungjun would have explained it that way. In such immature, childish terms, love seemed so simple. “I… I guess I do.”

“And, Mr. Moon has a crush on you as well?”

Myungjun nods, chuckling lightly when Sanha’s little pink lips pinch into a surprised ‘o’ shape.

“Will he become my dad?” Sanha asks, settling onto his lap.

Myungjun bites his lip. Sure, Bin could act as a father figure. Could be a wonderful role model – _is_ a wonderful role model. But, Myungjun would feel strange referring to Bin as his brother’s father. It felt… _Wrong_. He was simply a supporting and loving presence in their life, title and label insignificant.

“Not exactly,” he hums, petting Sanha’s hair. “But, he’ll be able to take care of you and me a bit more.”

“Can he have sleepovers?” Sanha asks, genuine excitement bubbling in his tone.

Myungjun giggles, “As many sleepovers as he wants!”

“You can have sleepovers at my house, too,” Bin says, suddenly, from his place by the door. Sanha’s head whips around to Myungjun’s to share his surprise. The taller man steps down to join them on the floor, legs beside Myungjun’s and an arm behind his back. One of his hands falls over Sanha’s head, pushing his hair out of his eyes and smoothing it back, and Myungjun recognises his old habit reflected in Bin.

“Will you sleep over, tonight?” Sanha asks, wriggling onto the other man’s lap.

Bin laughs heartily, his head tipping back a little. He glances to Myungjun, looking for permission, which he did not need. He was always invited. He was before, and now. Myungjun nods, nonetheless, and Sanha cheers loudly.

 “Will you sleep in my room?” Sanha requests.

Bin hums, “I’m sorry, Sanha, but I think I’ll be sleeping in MJ’s room, right?”

The suggestion, though without innuendoes, makes Myungjun’s cheeks burn. His partner bellows out a laugh, rubbing his back comfortingly as he chuckles.

“You don’t have to call me Mr. Moon, either,” Bin says. “Except at school. You still have to call me Mr. Moon there, because I’m still your teacher.” Sanha’s brows furrow in confusion. “My name is Moon Bin!”

“Your name is Bin?” Sanha’s eye blow wide, incredulous. “I thought your name was Mr. Moon!”

 

*

 

Sanha ends up falling asleep, splayed across Bin’s chest as the three of them watch a film. Bin’s spare hand fiddles with the short hairs at Myungjun’s nape, massaging the column of his neck, lightly. He takes this opportunity to tuck the sleeping boy into his bed, switching on his nightlight, placing the beloved stuffed animal in Sanha’s arms, and even pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Myungjun lends him a pair of loose pyjama pants, that rode above Bin’s ankles, his legs far too long for any of Myungjun’s clothes. He turns away as Bin changes, which makes the other man giggle softly as he climbs into the bed.

Bin was a character of such suave, innate confidence. Myungjun wonders if he could ever match such a trait.

Moon Bin slithers beneath the bed sheets, unfolding himself out onto his pillow. Myungjun hovers bedside, feeling his fingers shake a little. Never had he been in a relationship so close that they shared a bed. He was unsure of what to do, what to say, how to behave. He knew it would go no further than simply _sleeping_ , but part of him worries one of them won’t be able to help themselves.

“What’s wrong?” Bin asks, cautiously.

“What? Nothing,” Myungjun replies, quickly, sliding closer to the bed. He fingers the corner of his bed sheets, but does not peel them back to reveal his place. So, Bin does it for him, tugging the blankets down and patting the freed space. Myungjun follows his hand, climbing into the bed and resting on his back. He glances briefly at Bin, who has rolled onto his side and is watching him, and looks away.

“Hey,” he drawls, sitting up. “Don’t lie – you’re not comfortable. Are you okay?” One hand falls to Myungjun’s arm, testing the waters. His eyes look solemn and sympathetic, almost hidden behind his shaggy brown hair.

Under his gaze, Myungjun melts into the sheets, pulling them over his chin. “I’m just nervous,” he mutters, “I’ve never done this before…”

Bin smiles gently, pushing Myungjun’s hair away from his face and pushing the blankets down a little. “We’re not doing anything. Just sleeping,” he whispers. Myungjun rolls onto his side to face him. “There’s no reason to be nervous, it’s only me.” He wraps his arms around Myungjun, pulling him into his warm embrace. Myungjun allows himself to be swallowed up by Bin’s touch, to be enveloped in his affections, moulding against his body.

His chest is hot, and as the plush of his cheek rests against Bin’s firm skin, he hums in content. Bin’s arms reach over, and the light flickers off, plunging the two of them into darkness. He settles around Myungjun’s body, tucking Myungjun into the bend of his neck and pressing his nose into Myungjun’s head of hair.

Had he ever felt anything so sweet?

“See?” Bin whispers, into the night. The only light that filters into the room is from the streetlamp outside, blaring orange stripes like art across their wall, the temporary stain of suburbia.

“It’s perfect,” Myungjun whispers, clutching onto Bin’s t-shirt, one of his legs sliding over Bin’s.

He falls asleep like that. So quickly, so peacefully, to the rhythm of Bin’s heavy breathing.

 

*

 

The click of the door latch, the signature squeak of his bedroom door opening. Myungjun wakes to those familiar sounds, to the familiar weight dipping into his mattress. What is unfamiliar, though, and startles him for his first waking moment, is the body he is wrapped around.

Bin huffs sleepily in his grasp, lips pulled into a gentle pout, eyelids fluttering as he dreams. He pulls away from the warmth the man provides, spotting the repeating culprit of his weekend morning alarms.

His little brother has pulled himself onto the bed, settling by Myungjun’s feet. The morning sun catches in his wide brown eyes, glistening threads of gold that shimmer within. His warm, golden skin glistens. Sanha reminds him of everything beautiful about youth, of soft skin, of blasé behaviour, of pure innocence.

He shuffles away from Bin a little, slowly, as to avoid waking him, but the man does not stir. Opening up a small space, Sanha happily crawls into it, settling himself in the warmth the two men had created between them. He peers up at Myungjun, his puffy, sleepy eyes blinking sluggishly. “G’Mornin’,” he murmurs, clumsily pulling the blankets over him. Myungjun feels his tiny, cold feet bump against his knees.

“Good morning,” Myungjun croaks, pressing a kiss to his brother’s sticky cheek. “How are you?”

“Good. I had a good dream.”

“Yeah?” Myungjun prompts, watching the lengthy curl of Sanha’s eyelashes flutter. “What happened?”

“It was of you, and me, and Mr. Moon,” the boy begins, pink lips wrapping around his words. “We were in his car, and it started flying…” He rambles, the story continuing without Myungjun’s full attention. Instead, he was watching Bin, who had begun to stir, rolling closer to the two of them, head pressed awkwardly behind Sanha’s little back.

Sanha giggles, scratching at his neck, where Bin’s hair tickles him. He squirms away and into Myungjun’s chest, and the commotion finally pulls Bin from the depths of his slumber. He groans, lolling his head up to look at them both. He blinks at them, confused for a moment, before his expression lightens with recognition and he grins brightly at them. “Good morning,” he grumbles, arm stretching over the both of them, pulling them closer toward him.

“Good morning, Mr. Moon,” Sanha greets, from beneath his arm.

Bin yawns, “Remember, Sanha, my name is Bin when you’re at home.”

“That’s confusing!”

Myungjun giggles, “It just takes some time, baby. Like your spelling words. It’s hard at first, but then you remember, and it comes naturally.”

“Exactly,” Bin assures the boy, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Soon enough, Bin and Sanha fall back to sleep, the warmth the three of them create together inviting enough. Myungjun teeters on the tightrope between awake and asleep, and thinks about the three of them. He and Bin, clutched onto each other, wrapped over tiny Sanha who rests between them.

They are a locket, the treasure tucked inside. They are an oyster, home to a pearl.

Myungjun wonders how he went so long without someone by his side. Myungjun had always wondered if he would love anyone as much as he loves Sanha – for the first time in six years, someone was drawing close to equal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls support and give me love! i know my tumblrs p dead but lets be real its a dying platform! you can still find me there but youll more than likely see my crying about how much i miss astro on twitter instead!! love you guys!!!!!!!


	8. eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey can you believe we're three quarters of the way through?? crazy!

It has been a while since Myungjun boarded the bus. A while since he took the route from their apartment to the primary school. Sanha’s class had a performance on, and both he and Bin had requested he come along to watch. Bin had been working hard to set it all up, and Sanha had been practicing around the apartment.

When he rounds the corner and the school grounds come into view, there is a bustle of children moving towards the building behind the school block, into a large auditorium. Myungjun follows the stream of parents that lag behind, chatting amongst each other.

He feels a little out of place – always had, whenever he turned up to the school. All the other parents were far older than him, most by an entire decade. Their conversations were quite dull, on topics such as renovation and dieting, and their speech and sentences were decorated with years of experience. Experience that, Myungjun realises, he’ll never have. There were some priceless things that never gave second chances, and that was adult youth. Myungjun spent his on Sanha.

A familiar figure steps beside him, and Myungjun peers up into the sincere eyes of Dongmin. Hanging from his arm is his shorter partner, Jinwoo. Together they exude an aura of elegance, of warmth, of comfort and of happiness. “Hey there,” Dongmin says, broad smile on his lips.

The pair were a fair bit older than Myungjun, but something about them made him feel like he fit in. Perhaps it was the similarity in their relationship to his own with Bin. Or, perhaps, they were just too friendly.

“Hey,” Myungjun replies, waving his hand briefly.

“Are you here to see Sanha?”

Myungjun nods, “He seemed pretty eager about it, I knew I had to come along.”

“Is that all?” Dongmin asks, eager eyes examining him. Minhyuk swallows, shrugging.

“Are you looking forward to seeing Minhyuk perform?” He asks, changing the subject. Had Dongmin meant to ask him about Bin? Had Dongmin and Jinwoo any idea of the teacher dating him? It was not as if the two of them had been keeping their relationship a secret, but they had not put any effort into broadcasting, either.

Dongmin presses a hand to his chest, bashfully, “Very!” He answers, as they walk into the auditorium. There are chairs set out for guests, and students line up along the floor with eyes set on the empty stage, waiting patiently for the performance.

Clutching onto Dongmin’s hand, Jinwoo turns to him, “Sit with us, won’t you?” He requests, leaving no time for Myungjun to decline – though, he would not – as they worm through the maze of guests and chairs.

They settle just left of the centre, in the front row. “We haven’t spoken in ages,” Dongmin says, turning to him. Jinwoo’s hand is on his knee, quiet possession. Dongmin folds his pale, elegant hand over the top, “How have you been?”

Myungjun doesn’t have to ponder this. Since the last time they spoke, the bullying Sanha was suffering had cleared. Since the last time they spoke, he fell in love. Since the last time they spoke, he had his feelings returned. “Great!” He chimes, “And, you both?”

“Good, but Minhyukkie is really pestering us to have Sanha come over. You really must come visit someday,” Dongmin says, “You, and Sanha, and…” He pauses. “Perhaps, someone else?” He asks. He says it as if guessing there was another person in their lives, but there is a knowledgeable, teasing loll in his tone. _So, perhaps they do know_ , Myungjun wonders.

He nods. “For sure!”

Silence falls over the audience, suddenly, and Myungjun’s eyes turn to the stage, where Bin stands, tall with pride. He murmurs into the microphone, monologuing about the performance he had been working on with his class, how he was excited to show everyone, and how his students were, too. Myungjun looks up at him, sure his eyes are sparkling. He waves at Bin, who waves softly in return.

He feels the couple’s eyes on him, burning holes into his side, intrigued. He doesn’t address them, however, as the students of Bin’s class file onto the stage. There, along the front, is Sanha, dressed in a large one-piece suit, a dog of some sort. He holds his hands to his face, like paws, eyes scanning the crowd.

Myungjun waves. His little brother’s face splits into a broad, beaming grin when he spots him, bouncing on his toes and waving widely. Myungjun feels his chest swell with pride, as the students clumsily follow through with the choreography, singing along to the song that booms over the speakers. Sanha dances on the stage, Minhyuk close by his side as they shimmy along the front.

Jinwoo leans over, “Aren’t they precious?” He says, but Myungjun is too busy watching his baby brother perform to agree.

It all wraps up too quickly. The performance ends and parents and children meet, leaving together. Sanha bounds into his lap, yapping about how much fun he had, how he had been nervous until he saw Myungjun.

“Mr. Moon said to meet him when I get my bag,” he tells Myungjun with a pant, tired after his rapid chatting.

“He did? Oh, okay,” he grabs his little brother’s hand and turns to the couple, who are congratulating Minhyuk. “I’ve got to go, but it was wonderful to chat with you both. I hope the boys can have their sleepover soon!”

Jinwoo straightens, face downturned, “What, where are you going?”

“To the classroom. To grab Sanha’s backpack,” he answers, shuffling in his place, “And, to see Mr. Moon.”

Jinwoo nods, scooping Minhyuk up into his arms, fingers running over the fleece of his costume. “Well, we’ll come along. We’ve gotta get Minhyuk’s bag, and his homework, too, huh?” He tickles Minhyuk’s round baby belly, and the boy giggles in delight.

The group ascend the stairs together and make their way to the children’s classroom. Minhyuk and Sanha trail behind them, talking in the youthful tongue that all adults have long forgotten. Myungjun listens to the boys as the couple beside him chat amongst themselves, their conversations founded by their years of connection.

Bin is, as he guessed, waiting in the classroom. He stands on the opposite side, tucking a box filled with costumes into the back cupboard. His silhouette is stretched out as he reaches high, a sliver of his skin showing beneath his shirt. “Hey,” Myungjun greets, as he steps inside. Sanha follows Minhyuk and his fathers to grab their bags and homework from the shelf outside, their conversations dulling to a whisper in Myungjun’s ears as he approaches his boyfriend. His boyfriend, who turns, pulling his shirt down as he twists to face Myungjun, “It’s just me.”

“Just you?” the man greets, dropping the stickers onto his desk and moving to sit on it. It is just as disorganised as the first time Myungjun saw it, and he giggles as Bin shuffles some papers and a pencil pot aside.

Myungjun glances briefly out into the hall, “Well, the others are outside. Sanha. Minhyuk, Dongmin, Jinwoo.” He steps forward, into Bin spread legs, his hands finding purchase around Bin’s neck.

“Hey,” Bin drawls, in a whisper. “Not here, I’m at work,” he playfully scolds.

“School’s over,” Myungjun argues, a teasing smirk toying on the corners of his lips. “No one’s watching,” he giggles, leaning forward to press a kiss to Bin’s vacant and waiting lips. The man’s warm palms trek over his sides and settle on the sway of his hips, thumbing the skin beneath his t-shirt. It is perfectly chaste. “You did well today.”

Bin smiles, “I’m glad.” One hand drags up the length of Myungjun’s back, a trail of warmth over his spine, his hand resting over the bend of his neck. “Come here, I missed you,” he says, pulling Myungjun closer.

He scoffs, “You saw me this morning.”

“I see you almost every morning, and I still miss you by the afternoon.”

“Someone will catch us,” Myungjun warns, as Bin had earlier.

“School’s over. No one’s watching,” Bin echoes, guiding Myungjun’s lips towards his own and kissing him. Their lips move together with practiced ease, having learnt the way one another moves. Myungjun feels Bin’s head move, guiding him as they kiss. He feels dizzy, his head spinning in delight.

There’s a giggle at the door.

They immediately part and glance over, only to see Dongmin and Jinwoo scurrying away. Myungjun feels heat prickle in his cheeks, and Bin turns back to him, his own cheeks dusted pink. “Well, looks like we’ve been caught,” he murmurs, unable to stop the smile that bubbles onto his lips with a laugh.

“It was your fault,” Myungjun replies, tugging on his ear, light-heartedly.

“No, it was yours,” Bin argues. “You’re too irresistible!” He giggles, and pecks a final kiss to his lips. “Come on, let’s go out and face the crowd.”

As Bin locks the classroom, Myungjun spies the older couple peeking out from behind the corner, bodies hidden in the staircase. “I guess you know, now,” he says, approaching them.

“In our defence,” Dongmin starts, hands raised. “We already knew, we just wanted to be sure!”

Bin’s brows furrow, knitting together between his brows. “What? How?”

“Sanha’s not exactly the best at keeping secrets,” he laughs. “I’m fairly sure he only told us, if you’re worried about more people knowing,” he assures.

“We never told him to keep it to himself, so I guess that’s our fault,” Myungjun admits. “But, I don’t mind you knowing. You’re my friends, after all, right?”

Friends. It felt nice to say, felt nice to _possess_. Bin grins down at him at the acknowledgement, one hand fitting within Myungjun’s own.

Dongmin nods fervently, grinning widely. “And, now that we know for sure, we can go on double dates, yeah? And, the boys can finally have their sleepover!” His boisterous energy riles up his partner’s, and together, they excitedly list things to do, eat, and talk about. The group gather their children and eventually go their separate ways, not without Dongmin promising a date and a time.

Next Saturday, just before lunch. A day at Dongmin and Jinwoo’s house. At his _friend’s_ house. Myungjun marvels on the walk to the car, treasuring the warm feeling in his chest at the accepting of him by his new friends. His _first_ friends, in six years.

“Good day?” Bin asks, as they tuck themselves into Myungjun’s bed, where Bin has slept most nights. He has his own drawer in Myungjun’s dresser, his own shelf in Myungjun’s cupboard, and a toothbrush in the bathroom pot.

“Great day,” Myungjun says as Bin’s warm lips decorate his face with invisible kisses.

 

*

 

“We’re going to Minhyuk’s!” Sanha cheers, bouncing on the bed. It was early Saturday morning when the little boy had climbed atop Myungjun’s bed. He’d been quiet at first, allowing Bin to ease out of his slumber, until they’d both reminded him of the plans ahead, and he’d grown excited.

“Don’t bounce!” Myungjun cries, “You’re going to jump on one of us, silly!” He grabs for Sanha’s little waist and drags the boy into his arms, but he squirms away.

“I’m gonna have a sleepover at Minhyuk’s!” He cheers, jumping on the other side of the bed, by their feet.

Myungjun ignores him, shuffling closer to Bin and resting in his vacant arms. The morning sunlight filters through his hair and stains his skin with delectable warmth. His fingers trail over his golden skin, watching goose bumps rise in his wake.

“Is this your first sleepover?” Bin asks the boy, threading his fingers through Myungjun’s hair, kneading knots loose.

It will be Sanha’s first sleepover. His first night without Myungjun. Myungjun’s first night without Sanha. He wonders if some parents would find it a relief. Myungjun isn’t sure how he’ll feel. Since the day Sanha was born, Myungjun has never slept a night without him in the room over.

“Yep,” Sanha confidently chimes. “We’re going to play on Minhyuk’s game console and on the playground!”

Myungjun helps him pack his overnight bag as Bin makes breakfast. He puts Sanha’s toothbrush in, a change of clothes and his pyjamas. Sanha goes through his toys in search of some to bring, dumping matchbox cars and figures into his bag. Myungjun grabs the stuffed toy from Sanha’s bed, “Will you take this?” He asks, shaking the plush like a ragdoll.

Sanha pauses, frowning. He takes the toy in his hands, folding it over in his palms. “I don’t know. I’m a big boy, now,” he decides, pushing it back into Myungjun’s hands. “I don’t need it.”

Myungjun feels a pang in his chest. His little brother _was_ growing older, and he was living under the wavering acceptance of his peers. Was Sanha losing his touch with the childish world, as most do, or was he trying to fit in? Besides, this was the doll their mother gave him, one of the only things their mother left behind. It hurt Myungjun to simply discard it, even though Sanha will never feel the same connection to it.

“Are you sure?” Myungjun asks. Sanha glances at the toy briefly. “Minhyuk won’t mind. He’s your best friend, right?”

Sanha gingerly takes the plush back, holding it to his chest. “He won’t laugh at me?”

Myungjun sighs, pulling his brother into his arms. Sanha’s face presses against his chest. “I think you’ll be surprised, Sanha. Minhyuk will probably have one of his own,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to the swirling part in his brother’s thick, black hair.

After a few moments, his brother clambers off his chest and tucks the plush into his backpack with a sheepish grin. “I’ll leave you to finish packing your toys,” Myungjun excuses, kissing Sanha’s head and leaving quietly. Bin is cooking pancakes on the stove as Myungjun walks in, looping his arms around the man’s waist and hiding his face in Bin’s back.

The man startles a little before easing into Myungjun’s touch, “Feel like many?” He asks, gesturing to a stack of pancakes beside the stove. 

“A few,” Myungjun murmurs.

“Upset?” Bin wonders aloud, dropping more batter onto the pan. It sizzles loudly, and he turns away and pulls Myungjun’s face into his hands. He plays with the plush of Myungjun’s cheeks, squishing lightly so his lips pucker, and pressing a kiss to his faux pout.

“A little,” he answers, muffled by his squished cheeks. “I’ve… I’ve never been away from him for so long,” he admits, toying with Bin’s shirt. “It’s not that I’m nervous, or distraught, I’m just… Unsure.”

Bin sweeps Myungjun’s hair out of his eyes and smooths it over the crown of his skull. “Oh, darling,” he murmurs, his lips leaving dainty kisses to the delicate petals of Myungjun’s eyelids. Myungjun feels his eyes water. “Everything will be okay. Jinwoo and Dongmin are lovely, and Minhyuk is Sanha’s closest friend. He’ll be really happy to see you again come Sunday morning, I just know it.”

Myungjun nods.

“How about, after we leave, I take you on a date. A time, finally, for just you and I?” He suggests, a soothing palm circling on his lower back. “A movie, or a picnic. And, then I can take you home, maybe back to my place?” His voice rolls with risqué suggestion.

“That sounds wonderful,” he replies, propping himself up onto his tiptoes to kiss the taller man. He melts into his touch, feels his body relax as it is swallowed by Bin’s arms, as his lips are taken by Bin’s.

A tendril of smoke curls up from the pan, filling the room with an awful stench. “Shit,” Bin giggles, against his lips. He pulls away, spinning around to the pan on the stove, where a cloud of smoke billows out from a blackened pancake. “I burnt them.”

 

*

 

Jinwoo and Dongmin’s home is a large, comfortable house, with two floors and a spacious living area. Myungjun has to make a conscious effort to stop himself from gawking as he steps inside and pulls his shoes off, eyeing the interior with intrigue. Even Bin is a little impressed – Myungjun is yet to see the inside of Bin’s home, but he knows it’s a small apartment like his.

He supposes this is what is like for a full family, where both parents work well-paid, full-time jobs; a comfortable home set in the settled suburbia. It was a dream of Myungjun’s, that had developed long after his childhood and teenage dreams had withered. Perhaps, with Bin, they could achieve such comfort together.

Dongmin hurriedly invites them inside, as Minhyuk comes dashing around the corner, pulling Sanha away to his bedroom. Their loud chatter bubbles down the hall and up the stairs, and Sanha is whisked out of Myungjun’s sight. He must visibly tense, as Bin holds his hand at the small of his back and follows him inside.

Jinwoo is setting out food on the island bench in the kitchen, little snacks. A delightful smell wafts from the lit oven, and he gathers his guests to sit as he prepares more food.

“How are you both?” Jinwoo asks.

“Good!” Bin grins, already digging into the snacks. Myungjun has half-a-mind to tell him to wait, but Dongmin encourages him with a broad smile.

“Good,” Myungjun replies.

“Not as good as Bin, clearly,” Dongmin says, “Everything okay?” He, and Jinwoo, both have an approach that Myungjun would deem as fatherly. They speak to him with guidance, a soft cautiousness, their hands meeting his shoulders and his head and nowhere else.

He opens his mouth to dismiss the fretful couple, when Bin interrupts, mouth full of food, “He’s worried about leaving Sanha overnight.”

Myungjun rolls his eyes, a little embarrassed. “Bin – I… Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he murmurs, ducking his head. Bin’s arm loops around his waist, a silent apology. “I’ve never left him alone overnight before… I don’t know why I’m so nervous about it, I just… Am.”

“Ah,” Jinwoo empathises, “Been there! I was petrified the first night we left Minhyuk. He was – what? – three?” He checks with Dongmin, who nods briefly. “Only with my mother, but I thought my whole world was going to fall apart. Had never been a night without him!”

Dongmin chuckles briefly, “He was pretty torn up. Should have seen him, I had to tug him out the door!”

“You weren’t worried?” Myungjun asks, quietly.

“No, I was. But, I knew that if I worried, too, it would only serve to make Jinwoo more upset.” Dongmin pats Jinwoo’s forearm across the bench. “We had nothing to worry about, in the end. _You_ have nothing to worry about. We’ll call you, or Bin, if Sanha decides he’d like to go home.”

Myungjun nods, a little more comfortable. Sanha was in perfectly good hands. It was only Myungjun, who would feel like he was losing something.

Bin leans forward and grabs a biscuit, holding it by Myungjun’s lips. Myungjun glances at him briefly before leaning forward and taking a bite. He may be losing something, but Bin could fill that place, temporarily.

The thought of having Bin all to himself in the evening sends a spark of excitement through his body.

Jinwoo makes a delicious lunch, and conversation falls so easily over the group, the time whizzes by. Within the blink of an eye, it’s time for Myungjun to say goodbye to his little brother, who stands by the door, shifting from foot-to-foot with impatience.

“What are you waiting for?” Myungjun asks, “Do you need the toilet?”

“No! I want to play,” Sanha urges, arms reaching up to his older brother.

Myungjun pulls the boy into his arms. “Make sure you be polite! And, you brush your teeth. Don’t stay up too late, okay? Tell Mr. Park or Mr. Lee if you want to go home, okay? I’m only a call away, and I-.”

Sanha kisses his cheek. “MJ,” he mumbles. “I’ll be okay. See you tomorrow.”

“In the morning, I’ll be here. Bin and I, we’ll be here, yeah?” He fusses over Sanha, dusting invisible lint from his shoulders, tidying up his hair, although it will only get messier as the day continues.

Bin tugs gently on Myungjun’s arm, “Come on, darling. Let’s go,” he pulls the man to his feet. “You’ll make him stressed and upset if you bother him too much,” he whispers, rubbing his back. “We’ll see you later, Sanha! Have a good time!”

Jinwoo and Dongmin wave from the door, as Sanha bounds further inside the house. Bin leads Myungjun back to his car, pulling the front door open for him before walking around to the driver’s seat.

“There. It’s finished,” he smiles. “You okay?”

Myungjun pauses. He glances back toward the house, door closed, the goings-on inside unknown to him. He looks over at Bin, and brings their hands together. Freedom tastes bittersweet, a forbidden treat. “It’s just you and me, now, right?” He murmurs.

“For tonight.”

“… I’m great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yuo know where to find me ;)  
> just a reader discretion, idk how youll like the next chapter, but oh well


	9. nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let’s go,” he whispers, suddenly, hands sliding beneath Myungjun and pulling him up.
> 
> Myungjun hums, confused, annoyed at Bin to have stopped their kissing. “Where?”
> 
> “Home. To my place, our place,” Bin murmurs, smiling at him.  
> [reader discretion advised]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone!! just giving a reader warning while we're here: this chapter contains mildly sexual content. they fuck, like obv but its not exactly explicit (hence the rating for this fic) you can skip over it if you want - it pretty much starts once they get home to bins house and goes until the end of the chapter!!! thank you~

For their first outing alone, Bin requests that they’re _alone_.

They order take-out at a restaurant and carry it back to the car. Bin’s car fills with the hot scent of delicious, warm food. Myungjun’s mouth waters as they drive around the city, the lights whizzing by them. Bin sings along to the radio, singing love songs to him when they stop in traffic.

They wind up next to an empty park, which would usually be full of life, but at this time, there is no one around. The air of dusk is warm against their skin, the sky a washed-out blue that soars above them. Bin pulls a picnic blanket from the boot of his car and takes Myungjun’s hand, leading him into the park.

They walk in peace, soaking in the silence they’d been gifted. Bin trails up a small hill, splaying the blanket over the crest and setting himself down. Myungjun follows in his footsteps, holding the food in his arms, putting it down on the mat. They share light conversation over their meals, watching planes streak glitter across the inky sky.

Bin lies down on the blanket, hoisting Myungjun by his side and pulling him down to join him. Myungjun’s head rests on his chest, fingers cascading over his chest and twisting in his shirt. Bin’s long fingers thread through Myungjun’s hair and massage circles into his scalp.

Everything in the world feels as if it has stopped for them, and them _alone_. Myungjun glances up at Bin’s whose round and kittenish eyes blink slowly, the stars reflected like tiny shining lights over his iris. A warm sensation travels from Myungjun’s chest and weaves through his veins, drawing out to every inch of his body, tingling in his fingers, and making his eyes well up.

He sniffles against Bin’s chest, wiping away the tears that lay on his waterline. Bin jolts, peering down at him awkwardly before shuffling out from beneath Myungjun’s head and hovering over him. “Darling,” he whispers, his fingers carefully wiping beneath his eyes. “What’s the matter?”

“I…” Myungjun starts, pushing himself further into the bend of Bin’s neck. “I’m not sure,” he whimpers, feeling Bin’s arms squeeze him closer to his chest. “I’m so happy, but…” He trails off.

Guilt. Swelling in the base of his throat, stirring in his stomach.

Bin’s fingers fan over Myungjun’s face, pushing the hair out of his eyes, feeling the petal-smooth base of his wet eyelids beneath the pad of his digit. He lays a feather-light kiss against his cheekbone, which only serves to make Myungjun cry some more.

“Oh, baby, I-.”

“I feel guilty!” Myungjun cries, burrowing himself into Bin’s side.

He sits up, dragging Myungjun’s limp body up with him and cradling the shorter boy by his heart. His hand pats the back of Myungjun’s head, swaying slightly, soft as the breeze that washes over them. Bin lets Myungjun cry into his shirt, one soothing hand circling the arch of his back. He is patient, does not ask for an explanation, but coaxes it out with gentle affection.

Myungjun pulls his head away from Bin, fingers still clutched in his shirt. “I feel guilty,” he repeats, slowly. Bin’s fingers rub tiny circles into the nape of his neck, as he stares down at him. “He’s not here. How can I feel so happy if he’s not even here?”

His boyfriend’s head pulls back in understanding, before nuzzling back against his own.

Sanha. In the last six years, Myungjun knew no happiness without Sanha. Myungjun knew almost nothing without Sanha. He’d rewritten Sanha into his life as a necessity, had long forgotten what it was like to live without the little boy.

“Myungjunnie…” Bin murmurs, a nickname debuting on his tongue easily. “You deserve happiness all the time. Every second,” he says, “You can enjoy yourself without Sanha. You are separate from him.”

“You don’t understand,” Myungjun snaps.

“’Jun,” Bin says, words suddenly crisp and stern. “Make me understand,” he repeats, an echo of a previous conversation of theirs.

Bin’s eyes bore into Myungjun’s. An expression of loyalty, trust, compassion. Myungjun chews on the cushion of his lip, uncertain where to begin, uncertain how to express exactly what he feels.

“I…” Myungjun heaves in a deep breath. “I trust you… I want to tell you everything,” he whispers, his words fading into whispers. Everything – about his mother, his childhood, his old friends, Sanha’s birth. Memories float into his mind like tiny buoys, “It’s hard.”

He feels his bottom lip quiver gently, the words ready to spill. Bin’s thumb drags over the pink of his lip and pulls him closer, kissing him slowly, softly. “You don’t have too,” he whispers, as he pulls away. “Not until you’re ready.”

“I’ll tell you. I need too.”

Bin squeezes his arms around him. “I can wait,” he assures.

“No. I need to do it,” Myungjun says. “Just – I’ll… Take it slow,” he mumbles, sucking in a deep breath.

“Take it slow,” Bin agrees, running his fingers through Myungjun’s hair.

The deep breath sits in Myungjun’s lungs, burning and swelling in his chest. He stares into Bin’s eyes, so full of loyalty, so full of love, and feels the words spill out of his mouth.

“Sometimes, I wish I never kept Sanha.” Bin stills in his spot, one hand threaded through the depths of Myungjun’s fluffy hair. Myungjun swallows, waiting for him to respond, but he doesn’t. He jumps to his own defence, “Most of the time, I love him. I love him, unconditionally. But, sometimes, I wish that I never took-.”

“Do you really?” Bin interrupts, a strangled whimper.

“Don’t hate me,” Myungjun whispers.

Bin’s hand moves to cup the back of his neck, “I could never. Keep going. I want to know everything,” he says.

“I don’t want Sanha to think he’s a burden. That he’s something that got in the way of my life, but I can’t help but blame him for everything that went wrong.” Myungjun admits. A harsh, silent sob wracks his body, tears slipping over his cheeks. “I love him so much, but where else am I supposed to place the blame?”

“Tell me the story,” Bin says, his fingers wiping at Myungjun’s cheeks. It’s a futile affection, as more tears fall.

“My mother was a beautiful woman. Loving, kind, smart. As a single mother, and I a child raised by her, we weren’t exactly the most admired. But, we had our own happiness, together. I remember the way she smelled, her favourite perfume and the strawberry flavoured shampoo she liked,” he murmurs, a small smile slipping onto his lips. “Sanha looks like her, sometimes, you know? I see the same nose and eyes, the same smile in the mornings…

“Mum started to date when I was in my teens. She stayed with her partners for a while, but her relationships always fell apart. It was always mum and I, though, and I suppose no one wanted to interrupt that. She fell pregnant with Sanha when I was seventeen, I don’t know whether it was an accident or if it was a plea for someone to settle down with her – she never said anything.

“Her pregnancy was not incredibly healthy and I was always worried about her. I tried to help out but she refused. She was a delicate woman, and when it came to it, she struggled a lot in labour and in birth.” Myungjun sucks in a deep breath, and Bin pulls him up closer towards his chest, holding the man on his lap. “I was with her, through it all. Post-partum bleeding. Retained placenta – I don’t know, they didn’t tell me, they just made me decide whether or not to keep Sanha.

“So, there I was. My mother was dead and I was holding my half-brother in my arms, and he was the size of my forearm and he was tiny and whimpering and beautiful and I knew that orphanages were no place for a baby with a chance and so I said ‘yes, I’ll take him’ and signed all the stupid papers,” he sucks in a long, deep breath, trying to still his rambling story.

“And, I took him home, and I had no idea what to do. I had no idea how to care for a baby, I was nowhere near ready for that responsibility. So, I started reading books and forums online and asking around. I was in a part-time job and I was beginning university to study for my dream job, and suddenly I had this baby and I didn’t have any help.

“I asked my friends to baby-sit whenever they could, but they got sick of it, because I couldn’t pay. They got sick of me because I was never there to spend time with them, because I was taking care of my baby brother, because my mother had _fucking died_.

“I remember, one time, my friends invited me over and I brought Sanha, because I could never go anywhere without Sanha. He was sobbing and wailing and he wouldn’t go to sleep, and I was doing everything I could to make him quiet but he just wouldn’t stop crying, and my friends were getting pissed off and one of them lashed out at me.

“He said that I ‘should have just put him up for adoption’. He said it ‘might still be possible’. I remember feeling so furious, and I fought back, but then he told me, ‘Sanha ruined your hopes and dreams, why do you still care?’. And, until then, I hadn’t thought of that. Suddenly I realised that Sanha was the roadblock between what I have and what I wanted.

“But, I couldn’t give him back, right? He’d already grown attached to me, _I’d_ already grown attached to him, and he was all I had left of my mother, you know? I just packed up and left and I remember laying him down on my bed and he was so small and tiny but his eyes were wide and they were looking up at me and he smiled at me for the first time and I knew that I’d made the right decision for him.

“We were struggling, I had almost no money and I was falling behind in my studies and I was going hungry just so I could afford fucking baby formula for Sanha. So, I quit university and got another job, and a smaller apartment. It’s been like this ever since, jumping between minimum wage jobs and going hungry the day before pay-day.

“And, then I met you, and things became a little easier. I know you want to understand me but I don’t think you’ll ever understand how grateful I am… I know I’m so busy and sometimes I don’t get to see you for more than ten minutes, but your help has been so valuable to me, to _us_. You’re part of our family, now…”

He stops, the story of his life over, and he looks over at Bin. The man is crying, sniffling as he processes everything that Myungjun had confessed to him. “Hey, don’t cry,” Myungjun murmurs, a hypocritical request, as he blubbers. He pulls himself further up Bin’s body and wraps his arms around his body, tugging him closer. Bin’s arms squeeze him tightly, and they cry into one another’s necks.

“You’re so strong,” Bin croaks, “You’re so beautiful.”

“You don’t hate me?” Myungjun asks, requesting reassurance.

Bin sniffs, “I told you: I could never. I understand why you felt that way, I get it, you’ve done so well…” He pulls away, taking Myungjun’s face and holding it in his hands. “What did you want to study?”

Myungjun feels Bin’s warm palms secure around his chin, gentle, affectionate. “I wanted to be an architect… I _want_ to be an architect,” he answers. “It just doesn’t seem plausible these days.”

“I want to help you,” Bin says, suddenly, still sniffling.

“What? You’ve already helped so much.”

“No – I want to help you study again.”

“Bin,” Myungjun sighs, “I can’t afford that, I don’t have the time.”

Bin shuffles, moving to sit up straighter, “Hear me out,” he says. “Move in with me, that way you don’t have to pay for a new apartment. You and Sanha, both. I have a spare room, we’ll turn it into Sanha’s,” he begins. Myungjun’s jaw drops, stunned, but he can’t bring himself to stop Bin. The idea is too tempting. “Quit one of your jobs, whichever you hate the most, and use that time to go to school.”

“Bin…”

“It works, yeah? I’ll take Sanha to and from school. We’ll wake up together every day, and we’ll go to sleep together every night. We won’t have to take so many trips back and forth. The money we both earn can go to your lessons. You’ll have more time to spend, on yourself, on Sanha, on me.” He says, “At the very least, consider it.”

Myungjun chews on his lip. “I don’t want to live off you like that,” he murmurs.

“You won’t be _living off of me_ ,” Bin scoffs. “We’ll be working together, just like we have been… But, more efficiently,” he giggles. “Jun, you could have your dream.”

He blinks.

“It’ll be rough for a while, I know. But, we’ll have each other and Sanha. And, then, things will get better and you’ll be successful and everything will be so much easier and happier.”

Myungjun could not imagine his life being easier and happier than it already was, with Bin now in it. The idea sounds almost false, some ‘heaven-on-earth’ stuff from the movies.

“Move in with me,” Bin requests, once more.

Step-by-step, on stepping stones that Bin set out for him, Myungjun treads his way to a better life.

“Okay,” he answers, and Bin gasps, in surprise.

“Really?”

Myungjun laughs, “Yes! I mean, I’ll have to ask Sanha, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind! But, yes!” Bin grins brightly, lifting himself up and tackling Myungjun back down onto the blanket. They laugh together, interrupted occasionally by kisses. Myungjun feels warmth from his heart and feels it spread through his body, crackling like Summer-night sparklers and singing like his old favourite songs. He can’t help it, when the words tumble from his lips as Bin pulls away, words breathless and awestruck, “I love you.”

Bin doesn’t miss a beat, “I love you, too,” he whispers, eyes shining, cheeks red.

And, _gosh_ , Myungjun thinks, that was nice to hear. Had anyone besides his little brother said that to him, since their mother died? Had anyone, prior to his mother’s death and afterwards, ever _wanted_ to feel such a deep connection with him? The words, as they fall from Bin’s lips like an honest prayer, make Myungjun’s eyes well up again.

Bin giggles softly, kissing each tear as it falls. “Say it again,” Myungjun requests, one hand resting on the thrum of his skin, beneath which his heart beats.

“I love you,” Bin says. “You say it again!”

“I love you!” Myungjun cries, and the pair laugh, carefree, into the night.

Slowly, their laughter dies down. Myungjun stares up at Bin where he hovers above him, eyes scanning his face, the roll of his nose and the delicious plush of his lips. He sits up and pulls Bin’s lips between his own, kissing him deeply. One of Bin’s hands holds himself up, the other trailing over the curve of Myungjun’s waist, fingertips inching under his shirt.

“Let’s go,” he whispers, suddenly, hands sliding beneath Myungjun and pulling him up.

Myungjun hums, confused, annoyed at Bin to have stopped their kissing. “Where?”

“Home. To my place, _our_ place,” Bin murmurs, smiling at him. His index finger taps at the base of Myungjun’s hip, the corner of his lip quirking up. There is a lewd connotation to his suggestion, which Myungjun picks up on, cheeks boiling.

He’d never had sex, before. Had wanted too, but of course, had never had the opportunity. After all, his youth had been taken away from him. “Bin, I nev-.”

“It’s okay,” he assures. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want too. I just thought…”

Myungjun’s lips purse. He imagines how it must feel, to make love to the person you cherish. To feel their hot skin beneath your fingers, to feel them treasure every inch of you. “I…” Bin eyes him, carefully, waiting for his answer. Whichever he gave, a yes or a no, he knew Bin would not mind. He was completely and utterly safe, and completely and utterly loved. “I want too,” he decides.

“Only if you’re sure, if you’re ready,” the taller boy murmurs, thumb dragging over the curve of his lip.

Myungjun inhales, feels the breath trickle out of him, calming. “I am.”

“Then,” Bin whispers, kissing his cheek, so chaste after such an admission. “Let’s go home.”

Bin’s hand settles on the inner side of Myungjun’s thigh on the drive home, possessive, eager. Myungjun feels his heart race, nerves bubbling up in him as the drive stretches on. “There’s no need to be nervous,” Bin observes, tracing his fingers over Myungjun’s thigh.

Myungjun has never been inside Bin’s apartment. As Bin unlocks the door, he expects to have a look around at the place he might very well call ‘home’ soon, but Bin sweeps him into his arms and kisses him, as soon as the door is closed. Instantly, he’s lost in the feeling. He’s pushed up against the wall of the hallway, Bin’s fingers slithering beneath his shirt, leaving trails of heat over Myungjun’s abdomen. He’d never been touched in such a passionate, desperate way – he loves it.

Arousal turns in Myungjun’s stomach, a hot, tight feeling in the base of his body. His hands yearn to explore Bin’s body, and so they, too, reach under Bin’s shirt and explore. He has a strong stomach, the line of his muscles detectable. His back is muscular and moves with him, the blades of his shoulders poignant and elegant.

Myungjun is desperate to touch where he has not touched before, to be touched where he himself as not been touched by another person. It was the utmost privilege having Bin beneath his exploring fingers.

Bin’s hands reach lower, curving over the arch of his bottom. He hums into their kiss, smiling as he gives Myungjun’s bum a squeeze. He yelps in surprise, and Bin scoops him up and holds him against his waist. Myungjun is quick to latch onto him, hands around his neck and ankles strung around his back. Their hips collide, their arousals meeting, and Myungjun swallows back a moan as pleasure sparks through his body.

Bin makes his way through his home, carefully lowering Myungjun onto his bed and hovering above him, settling between his legs. “You’re okay?” he murmurs, quietly. The bedside lamp provides a dull, orange light to the room, a silver lining along the smooth curve of his nose.

“I’m great,” Myungjun replies, one hand pulling his face closer to connect their lips.

“I want you,” Bin whispers as they part.

“I want you, too,” Myungjun replies.

“Tell me when to stop.”

Myungjun swallows, as Bin’s hands fiddle with the hem of his shirt. “I don’t want you too,” he responds, and tugs the shirt over his head without his boyfriend’s help. Bin looks down at him, eyes raking over his revealed form with a heated curiosity. Myungjun feels himself flush, from his cheeks, down to his chest. “Stop staring at me,” he murmurs, shrinking behind his hands.

“I can’t help it,” Bin mumbles, one hand sweeping over Myungjun’s chest and stomach, exploring. By no means, in his own opinion, did Myungjun have a desirable and lovable body. Rather, it was slightly tubby – especially so in comparison to Bin’s own stomach, which he had felt and had not seen, but knew was tight and muscular. “You’re so beautiful.”

Bin’s fingers play with the trail of hair the ascends from the button of Myungjun’s jeans, inching along the hem of his pants. Myungjun knows he must look an odd sight, flushed and sweating, and obviously aroused – but Bin doesn’t seem to mind.

He tugs on the bottom of Bin’s shirt, “Not fair,” he mumbles, and Bin grins, pulling the shirt over his head. As Myungjun had guessed, his body is lean and sharp, golden under the warm light of the lamp. Without thinking, his fingers trace over each defined muscle, dipping into the divots in between. The action makes Bin smile gently, and he bends down to press a tiny kiss to his forehead.

Myungjun pulls his lips down, kissing him slowly, savouring the taste and feel of Bin’s lips against his own. His fingers tangle in Bin’s hair, tugging him closer, and it makes Bin whine gently. Perhaps instinct, perhaps playful – Bin’s hips roll down, colliding with Myungjun’s. His head tips back in the pillow as pleasure trickles through him, a moan slipping from his lips.

Impatience makes his fingers move, as they reach down to unbutton Bin’s jeans. From this angle, he struggles and fiddles with the button, and Bin moves to help him. With ease, the button slips out and his fly unzips. Bin works with practiced effortlessness, a skilful knowledge in his movement. Myungjun is grateful that Bin knows what he’s doing, so he can guide Myungjun along.

Bin pulls his jeans over his hips, letting them drop to the floor in a pile. His long, tan legs are revealed, with strong, handsome thighs and muscular calves. The band of his underwear dips to reveal the tip of his pubic hair, wiry and dark. Myungjun’s mouth – involuntarily – waters at the sight. His bulge weighs heavy between his legs, but they’re yet to go further.

“Are you nervous?” Bin asks, voice hushed in a whisper. His fingers dance along the top of Myungjun’s pants.

He breathes out, “A little,” he admits.

Bin’s hand falls over his bare chest, fingers pressing gently into his heart, letting it thrum against him. “We won’t go too far,” he promises, pushing Myungjun’s sweaty hair off his forehead.

Myungjun moves to sit up, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to push you too far, if it’s your first time.”

He scoffs, “Bin, I’m not a porcelain doll. I’m not going to break,” he mutters, tries to spit the words, but his confidence falls. Bin knew better than he did, after all.

Bin cups his cheek, one hand rolling over the arc of his bottom. “I just don’t want to hurt you,” he says, against his lips. “We’ll work our way up, that’s better, yeah? Let me treasure you…”

Myungjun kisses him back, slowly, letting Bin’s tongue draw against his, in silent agreement. His hands span over the expanse of Bin’s bare back, feeling his hot skin beneath his fingertips. His breath catches in his throat, as Bin’s hands trail further down his body and tug gently at his jeans, a wordless request for permission. In desperate yearning – for flesh upon flesh, for body against body, for heart to meet soul – Myungjun’s hands manoeuvre his pants over his hips and pushes them over his thighs.

Now, both men stripped down only to their underwear, they drink in the sight of their near naked bodies, pressed against each other. Bin bends down, kissing every visible inch of Myungjun’s body – worshipping not only his form, but his mind, whispering poetry over his skin.

He peers up at Myungjun, “Can I?” he whispers, the tip of his finger dipping into the waistband of his briefs. Myungjun feels excitement prickle in his body, nodding quickly. His curious fingers pull at Myungjun’s underwear, revealing the rest of his body which lay before him. Myungjun has no time to feel embarrassed, as Bin’s hands draw love in patterns along his body, along his naked and hard form.

Sex, as Myungjun learns, is wet, desperate, and loud. Love making, he learns, is sweet, passionate, and harmonious. Sure, they connect and relate to one another, but they are not the same. Bin cherishes every inch of his body, every aspect of his being. The noises they make filter through the room like a song they make on their own, inspired by the love they share between them.

Like a ribbon wound tightly and suddenly pulled undone, Myungjun finishes first, Bin’s lips on his and his hands around Myungjun’s sex. Love confessions spill from their tongues, their names synonymous with ecstasy. Bin follows shortly thereafter, laying Myungjun down onto his back and cleaning up the mess they made. He moves with tentative, soothing gestures, the cool cloth satisfying against Myungjun’s hot skin.

He joins Myungjun in his bed, pulling the blanket over their naked bodies and sweeping Myungjun into his arms. Their chests press together, a little sticky, but neither have the energy to mind. As Bin turns the light off, he presses a kiss to Myungjun’s forehead, brushing the clumps of his sweaty hair off his forehead. “You okay?”

“I love you,” Myungjun replies, breathing against his chest. He presses a kiss to the dip in his collarbones. “I love you, so much. Thank you.”

Though Myungjun cannot see it, he can hear the smile in Bin’s tone, “I love you so much, too.”

Bin falls asleep before he does, and he watches Bin’s eyelashes flutter as he dreams. In the end, he believes he made all the right decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know where to find me!! hmu!! im a bit busy atm with school and uni and literally everything else in my life but im trying to write!!


	10. ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And so_ , Myungjun thinks, smiling over at his brother and his boyfriend, _this is the start of the rest of our lives._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooooo!! its almost finished now guys!!! we're near the end~ im a little bit excited but ill be sad to see this finish :(

Sanha bounds into his arms, when Myungjun and Bin arrive back at Minhyuk and his parent’s home. His little bag bobs on his back as he runs, leaping into his chest and wrapping his little arms as far as he can around Myungjun’s waist. “Did you miss me, baby?” he asks, ruffling Sanha’s hair. How can it be, that only after one night, his little brother looks so much more grown up?

The boy nods, nuzzling into his neck.

“Did you have a good time?”

“Really good!” Sanha chimes, stepping out of his embrace. We played pirates in the playground until it got dark, and Mr. Park made dinner, and then we played on the console!”

Dongmin steps around the corner, smiling over at the trio. “Was he well-behaved?” Myungjun asks him, standing and pulling the boy onto his hips. From the corner of his eye, he watches Bin pet Sanha’s head and take his hand within his own.

“An angel,” Dongmin promises, “He is welcome whenever he likes!”

“No problems?”

The father’s lips purse, and he sighs briefly, “Uh, he had a little trouble going to sleep, but he was mostly fine.”

“Trouble?” Myungjun asks, turning to Sanha, then back to Dongmin.

“He just missed you, is all,” the man says. Myungjun feels his heart thrum faster. Minhyuk skids around the corner, stopping behind his legs.

“Does he _have_ to go?” Minhyuk whines, pulling on the leg of his father’s pants.

Dongmin chuckles, “’Fraid so, buddy. You need to go to bed early tonight, you have school tomorrow,” he says. “I’m sure Sanha, MJ, and Mr. Moon have their own things to do, too.”

“No, we don’t,” Sanha answers on behalf of them.

“Actually,” Bin laughs, “We _do_ have stuff to do. We both have school tomorrow, huh?”

“We need to clean up your bedroom,” Myungjun adds. “Anyway,” he continues, turning back to Dongmin. “Thank you so much for letting him stay!”

“Our pleasure,” the man says, as they step outside, “You’re all welcome any time!”

Sanha clambers into the back of Bin’s car, dropping his backpack onto the floor and clipping himself into his seat. Bin had mentioned something, offhand, about getting Sanha a child’s car seat, now that he’ll regularly sit in the back. Myungjun looks back at him, at the way he is swallowed up by the seat belt, how tiny he looks against the seats, and agrees.

“How was it?” Myungjun asks him, now that they’re alone, in case Sanha had anything else to say.

“Good!” Sanha replies, earnestly.

Myungjun pauses, as the car pulls away from the curb. “Did Minhyuk make fun of you for your toy?”

Sanha looks up at him, shaking his head. “No, he had one of his own, as well.”

It wasn’t that Sanha had actually grown up overnight. He was still, in essence, a little boy. Myungjun only had to have one day away from him, however, to realise Sanha wasn’t his baby anymore, and never again would he be.

 

*

 

After much begging for weeks, Sanha is finally rewarded a sleepover at Bin’s house. He excitedly explores his home, searching for hide-and-seek spots and asking numerous questions. He claims the bed in the spare room, and Myungjun can’t help but share a look with Bin. They were yet to suggest moving to Sanha, but Myungjun has no doubts he would agree.

Sanha stands on a stool in the kitchen, up on the tips of his toes as he helps stir the pot. Myungjun’s hands linger by his hips so he doesn’t fall over, watching him mix the soupy ingredients with clumsy manoeuvring. Bin is chopping up more vegetables on the other side of the bench, scooping more and more into the pot.

“Smells yummy,” Sanha mumbles, ducking his head into the cloud of steam that rises up from the stove.

Myungjun pushes his head back a bit, “Don’t touch the steam, you’ll hurt yourself, baby,” he warns, and Sanha diligently stands back, his little pink lips pulling into a pout. His older brother ruffles his hair playfully.

“Incoming,” Bin warns, before pushing diced potato into the pot. Sanha quickly stirs the pieces in, smiling as they hide amongst the rest of the soup. “Smells good, right?” He agrees with Sanha. “My best recipe,” he flashes a broad grin.

“I want to taste it,” the boy says, peering into the pot.

Bin reaches into the pot and collects a small spoonful. Ringlets of steam curl off the spoon, and Bin blows on the soup to cool it down, before holding it up to Sanha’s lips. The boy opens his mouth wide, and swallows the soup, eyes shining. “That’s so delicious,” he chimes, pushing on Bin’s arm and urging him to get more.

“No, Sanha, you’ll get to have a big bowl at dinner time,” Bin giggles, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Myungjun watches them interact from the side, wonders if their relationship had changed much since Bin became a permanent figure in their lives. How many times could he see this sweet, domestic scene before his heart didn’t bubble up with warmth? They were a family, now, almost the replica of the family he’d dreamed of having – would he ever not feel the warmth of such family relations?

The three eat dinner at the table, and Sanha eats most of what is provided in his ‘big-boy-bowl’ – as Bin has no plastic cutlery or dishes for children – and helps clean up the kitchen. Bin marvels at his co-operation, but it is so regular to Sanha and Myungjun. After all, without the boy’s help, stuff simply would not have gotten done.

Of course, Bin has no movies for children on his shelf, but the television is playing made-for-TV children’s films. Bin’s couch is not quite big enough for the three of them, just one loveseat, so the couple sit side-by-side, and Sanha rests, splayed out over their laps. He falls asleep rather quickly, cheek squashed against Myungjun’s thigh and feet tucked between the arm of the couch and Bin’s legs.

“I’ll take him to bed,” Bin whispers, carefully scooting off the couch and lifting the boy into his arms. Sanha whines, long and high, curling himself into Bin’s arms as he’s woken from his slumber. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s just me,” Bin whispers to him, a hand rubbing his back in circles, calming.

Myungjun can’t help but follow, tip-toeing behind them so as to not wake his brother up. He watches from the doorway as Bin peels the blankets back and carefully places Sanha on the middle of the mattress. He pulls the blankets up and presses a quick kiss to his nose, before smoothing the duvet down and joining Myungjun by the door.

“You don’t have a nightlight,” Myungjun murmurs, hand falling to Bin’s chest to stop him.

Bin chews on his lip, “I know. Will it be fine if I leave the bathroom light on?”

Myungjun nods, smiling softly. “Let’s go to bed, shall we?”

“Sounds good,” Bin replies, kissing his forehead.

When Myungjun wakes, Bin is looking at him.

He meets those round, brown eyes, and feels the golden morning sun on Bin’s skin, and melts against him. Many words go unsaid, but not unheard, as Bin’s fingers drag over his face and pull him forward to kiss over his face. Myungjun’s hand dips beneath the blankets and holds Bin’s in his own, feeling warmth encompass his palm and his heart.

Myungjun’s fingers dance over Bin’s chest, feels the thump of his skin where his heart lay beneath, beating away. Bin’s eyelashes flutter gently, dissolving memories of his dreams on his mind. Morning is caught in his hair, a natural halo in the fly-away’s of his usually neatly styled hair.

“You’re beautiful,” Bin finally whispers, a gentle admission that curls through the air and falls against Myungjun’s ears. He pulls himself into Bin’s chest, resting his head in his neck, breathing in his scent – faded cologne, shampoo, and a little, natural sweat. Bin’s fingers thread through the hair on the back of his head.

It’s like a ritual – the bedroom door quietly opens, a weight on the end of their bed dipping into the mattress. Sanha’s body, cold from walking about the apartment, slithers in between them. They hiss at his skin, cool as ice against their hot bodies. Sanha giggles and presses the soles of his little feet to their shins, the starfish-shaped palms of his hands cupping at their cheeks.

“I want to stay here forever,” Sanha says. _Me, too_ , Myungjun thinks. Beside the two of them, no matter where, no matter how – as long as it is the three of them, he was happy.

“Why don’t you?” Bin asks, quietly, tucking a strand of Sanha’s hair behind his ear. He glances over at Myungjun, hinting at the discussion they’d had only a few days prior. Myungjun wanted to move in, he doubted Sanha would disagree, but he had wanted to check, first.

Sanha lifts an eyebrow, “I wish,” he jokes.

Myungjun rubs the boy’s tummy, protruding a little beneath the t-shirt of his pyjamas. “Would you like too?” He asks, and Sanha peers at him with bewilderment. “Binnie says we can move here…”

“Where’s he gonna go?” Sanha asks, frowning. “We can’t steal his house!”

Bin chuckles, “No, you won’t be kicking me out. You’ll come live with me. This will be _our_ house,” he says. “As long as you want that.”

Myungjun smooths his brother’s hair down. “What do you say, baby?”

There is a prolonged silence as Sanha calculates his response, before he starts bouncing on the mattress, cheers echoing throughout the room. Bin tackles him down and covers his mouth with the palm of his hand, in fear of waking up the neighbours. Without doubt, Sanha wants to move in, too.

 _And so,_ Myungjun thinks, smiling over at his brother and his boyfriend, _this is the start of the rest of our lives_.

 

*

 

The living room is scattered with half-filled boxes, sloppily written labels on the side in permanent marker, ‘books’, ‘kitchen tools’, ‘toys’. There is not much they can pack up and keep, a lot of furniture can be sold as Bin already has most of it.

“We’ll sell it,” Bin says, “And put the money away for your studies.” The thought sends a shiver of excitement over Myungjun’s head. He’d be going back to school, to study what he’d always wanted too. He and Sanha were safe, and happy, well-fed and moving under a new and better roof, with someone they love. Myungjun’s life, after falling apart, was finally drawing back together.

Sanha is pulling his clothes from his closet and dumping them into cardboard boxes. Bin is in the kitchen, stacking the plastic plates and cups into piles. Myungjun _was_ organising his bedroom and his clothes.

Left forgotten in the back of his cupboard, is a big, blue box. He pulls it out, from behind sheets and duvet covers, dumping it on his bed. There’s a thin coat of dust on the top, partially disguising where his name is written neatly in the centre, and a set of numbers – the date of his birth.

His baby-box.

Underneath, messily scrawled is Sanha’s name and date of birth, eighteen years after Myungjun’s own. He’d written it there, after their mother died. Had been determined to journal Sanha’s childhood as their mother had recorded his own. The box had been back there a long time, he doesn’t even remember what is in there.

Slowly, cautiously, he pulls off the lid, as if something might jump out and scare him. Alas, when he places the lid down, the contents remain still in their place, glaring up at him. On top, is a small pair of socks, so tiny they sit in the bowl of Myungjun’s palm. They’re pure white, a little frill of blue lace around the ankle. These, he remembers, were Sanha’s.

After his first bath, the hospital had put these little socks on him and handed him over to Myungjun. He remembers contemplating keeping his little brother, remembers his fingers toying with the small strip of lace. Remembers wondering how anything could be so small, so fragile.

Sanha’s hospital ankle band sits beneath, with his name and time of birth scrawled across. The loop of it is tiny, Myungjun cannot fit three fingers in the strap. There are teeny, tiny baby jumpsuits, the type that envelope the baby’s whole body, up to their necks. They were Myungjun’s, but he had passed them down to his little brother.

It seemed that everything of Myungjun’s had been stained by Sanha’s presence. At first, he’d been upset – these days, that presence was a blessing rather than a stain, and was all that kept him going.

Sanha’s birth certificate, in a clear sleeve. Myungjun’s, too. Myungjun’s growth diary, listing the days he took his first steps, the details of his first word, first tooth, first smile. The journal Myungjun’s mother had bought to fill out for Sanha was empty, besides his name, in thick lettering at the top of the very first page.

Myungjun pulls out, from the bottom, beneath pacifiers and bibs and tiny cotton hats, a thick book. He gasps, as his fingers run over the worn leather, over the rough sides of the pages. He had completely forgotten about this book.

His mother had shown it to him, on his eighteenth birthday, her belly swelling with the weight of Sanha, growing inside of her. She had kept a detailed diary of Myungjun’s childhood, complete with pictures. Myungjun flips through each page with caution, pictures of himself and his mother, her characteristic handwriting that curled across the pages, recounts of their trips to the park, of what made him smile for the very first time – her.

He stops, on a picture of he and his mother. He looks about five months old, sat fat and round on her lap, smiling up at her. She is looking into the camera, those warm, caramel eyes he remembers so dearly. He hadn’t seen her in so long.

After her death, he had put away all the photos of her, and of them together. Perhaps, he would unearth more as he continues to pack up the house. He couldn’t bear to see her after she’d left so suddenly.

Though, she looks a lot younger in this image, Myungjun can’t help but stare at his mother, drawing in every aspect of her face. Her round chin, her flat nose. The baby hairs that framed her face, a little frizzy and unkempt. The dotted freckles on her cheeks, that she would always try to hide. Her round eyes, the way they’d taper out at the corner, her irises wide and a sweet brown.

Myungjun’s throat swells, his cries begging to break free. His vision starts to blur with tears, but he cannot look away. He had forgotten about the birthmark on her neck, the freckle beneath her ear. He had forgotten about that shirt, the one she always seemed to wear on Saturday’s. Myungjun had forgotten so much of her.

Memories trickle in, one by one, floating on the surface of his mind, his head swimming. He cannot help it, when he runs his fingers over the image of his face, along the round curve of her cheeks. “How are you, mum?” he asks, wiping his tears on the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, pressing the book to his chest. He can feel his heart pound against his ribcage, against the book, as he holds it to himself, desperate to draw more memories of his mother back into his mind.

He wonders if Sanha knows what their mother looks like. He wonders if Sanha, if he looked at the picture, could point out all the similarities they have.

Myungjun folds the book closed, before someone can walk in on him. He gently places the contents of the box back inside, before packing it away into a moving box and dumping some clothes on top. One day, when he felt a little stronger, he would pull it back out again. He would apologise for not showing the care their mother had, and show Sanha the wonderful woman their mother was.

He’s piling more clothes on when Bin gently knocks on the door. “Hey,” he murmurs, squinting at Myungjun’s face. He must look red, and puffy. “You okay?”

Myungjun sighs, stepping forward into his embrace. “Just… Emotional,” he admits half of his woes, as Bin’s warm arms snake around his waist. He presses a quick kiss to Myungjun’s cheek, his lips warm and tender.

Bin hums against the skin on his face, tiny, rippling vibrations along the bones of his jaw. “I finished up in the kitchen, do you want me to help out, in here?” he asks.

Myungjun glances at the box he’d packed, the baby-box hidden inside, behind a layer of thick packing tape. “Sure,” he answers, stepping back. “I still have all the linen to get through,” he says.

Sanha arrives to the room next, holding a large pile of books in his hands, held beneath his chin. “Where should I put my books?” He asks, voice a little muffled.

Bin starts pulling sheets from the cupboard as Myungjun guides his brother out of the room and grabbing him a new cardboard box for his belongings. Together, they drag it back to Sanha’s room, stacking his books inside. “Are you excited?” Myungjun asks, trying hard not to sniffle and reveal to his brother his tears.

“Yeah,” the boy replies. “It’ll be weird living somewhere different, though.”

“But, better?” Myungjun asks, Myungjun hopes.

“Definitely,” the boy says, smiling over at him.

Myungjun’s bed looked too tempting to forego, that evening. As their bones ached with the work they’d put in that day, Bin did not feel like driving home, and Myungjun did not feel like waiting for sleep. He falls into the sheets and feels Bin join him, his warmth radiating along Myungjun’s side. Vaguely, he hears Bin whispering words of praise and love as sleep pulls heavy on his eyelids, tugging him away into slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have more things coming!! you know where to find me for updates ;)


	11. eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myungjun sighs softly, drinking in the scene before him. How domestic, how loving. This was his family before him, two of his favourite people intertwined and dreaming. Carefully, he climbs into the bed, curling himself into Bin’s other side. The sheets are warm, sun-soaked, and Bin’s skin is musky and hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyoooo im 13k into misplaced pieces but i dont think that ill have enough to post the first chapter after in two weeks time, so please be patient!! im also working on a few oneshots for this story so you can still keep up with this lovely little family!!

“We should put in your application,” Bin suggests on the first night having moved into Bin’s apartment together, perched against the headboard of his bed. He has papers and planners spread out over his lap, his thick-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose. The pen between his fingers skims over the pages, halting as he turns to look at Myungjun, tucked under the duvet and reading a thick book. “For university.”

Myungjun folds the book over his fingers, marking his place, and looks up at him. Bin is doused in the light from the lamp. “I should apply?”

Bin nods, shuffling a stack of papers and shifting them aside. He moves onto another pile, “Well, you’ve moved in, now,” he murmurs, crossing something out. “The money from whichever job you keep can go to your studies. Which job will you quit, by the way?”

“The grocery store,” Myungjun immediately decides, sitting up a little further. “I hate it. And, that way, I can… I can study in the day…” He trails off, imagining himself studying in Bin’s study, where his boyfriend had talked about buying another desk, just for him.

“Okay,” Bin replies, the corner of his lip lifting. “Tomorrow, when you go in – hand in your two-weeks-notice,” he instructs.

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“Did I not seem so?”

Myungjun sits up even further, moving toward Bin. “Will you help me put in my application? It’s been so long since I went to school, I don’t remember how anything works!”

Bin reaches a hand up to his head, massaging the nape of his neck. “Of course, darling,” he replies, pulling Myungjun’s face in and pressing a kiss to his cheekbone.

He imagines the future, Bin reading over his applications and ironing everything out for him. Imagines Bin dropping him off, imagines Bin helping him with his homework just as he helps Sanha. Would Myungjun need his help? What if he wasn’t good at it? He sighs gently, against Bin’s cheek, and his boyfriend pulls away, humming, “What’s up?”

“What if I do bad? What if I can’t even get in?” He whispers.

At his doubts, Bin wraps his arms around Myungjun’s shoulders and hauls him onto his lap. The papers beneath Myungjun crinkle and he panics, reaching around to move them, but Bin pulls his arms back and holds them against his chest. “Why are you doubting?” He whispers, rubbing his thumb back and forth along the plush of Myungjun’s cheek.

Bin’s face is so close, eyes so genuine and gentle. Myungjun feels his eyes sting a little as they well up, and he chews on his lip. Bin sighs softly, murmuring sweet nicknames in his ear as he hugs Myungjun close. “It’s been such a long time. What if they don’t want to take me? I… I…”

“You already made it once,” Bin reminds him, fingers dragging through Myungjun’s hair, pressing along his scalp. Myungjun’s eyes slip closed. “You can make it again, and this time, you can make it to the end.”

“It’ll be hard.”

“It’ll be very hard,” Bin agrees, “But, I’m here. Sanha’s here. We’re all together, and… And everything will be okay, yeah?” He waits for Myungjun to nod. “These things take time. Sometimes, you have to wait for things to fall into place.”

Myungjun knows this, better than anyone, he thinks. Most everything had fallen into place for he and Sanha, too.

He waited a very long time, but it was worth it.

 

*

 

Settling into Bin’s home took no time at all. Quickly, the three of them fell into a comfortable routine; and the apartment became _their_ home instead of _Bin’s_.

Sanha had become their personal, natural alarm clock. An early riser, he climbs into their bed every morning to snuggle between them and share the tales of his dreams. Bin finds it entertaining, how every morning the boy walks in with a new hairstyle, messy from sleep, his pyjamas crooked on his hips and pillow creases on his cheeks.

Which is why they’re late, one morning, when Sanha doesn’t come in at all.

Myungjun wakes without Sanha accidentally stepping on his legs, and rolls over, confused. Bin is still fast asleep, gentle snores escaping him. “Shit,” Myungjun murmurs, reaching onto the bedside table for his phone. Flipping it open, the time reveals _7.46_.

Though it takes some rigorous shaking, Myungjun wakes Bin, who groans heavily, rolling into his arms. “G’Mornin’,” he mumbles into Myungjun’s chest, pressing his face against the flat base of his throat and sighing.

“Babe,” Myungjun whines. “We’re late.”

Bin’s head pulls away. His eyes are puffy with sleep, features twisted in confusion. “What?” he breathes. “What’s the time?”

“Quarter-to-eight,” Myungjun says, pulling off the blanket.

“Sanha didn’t wake us?” Bin wonders aloud, awkwardly stumbling out of bed. A little dizzy with vertigo, he winds his way through their bedroom.

Myungjun hums, wrapping a dressing gown around his waist and stepping out into the hall. Sanha’s bedroom door is wide open, his bed in clear view. His duvet is piled up on his bed, and as Myungjun traipses over, Sanha’s tiny body is hidden beneath, the tip of his head poking out from the top.

“Sanha,” Myungjun coaxes, pulling the blankets back a little and pushing Sanha’s hair out of his face. It’s heavy and sticky between his fingers. He frowns, resting his knuckles against his brother’s forehead, hot and sweaty beneath his touch.

Sanha had had a few fevers and illnesses growing up, as all children do. In the past, it had caused great distresses for the two of them, as Myungjun would lose shifts and money in caring for him. Myungjun sighs, peeling the blankets back further. His little brother’s body shakes as the cool air hits him, and he whines, rubbing at his eyes.

“Oh, baby,” Myungjun murmurs, as Sanha blinks up at him, eyes glassy and tired.

“MJ,” Sanha croaks, voice crackling with illness. “I don’t want to go to school.”

Myungjun chews on his lip. He can’t stay home to take care of Sanha – he was on his final week at the grocery store and skipping a shift would be impossible. Bin would be at school, teaching. Myungjun scanned his brain for any other options, but came up short. He gently tucks his hands under Sanha’s ribs and pulls him up, sitting him on his lap. His brother shivers in his arms, coiling into him.

“Bin!” Myungjun calls, and Sanha pulls his hands to his hears. Myungjun apologises quietly, patting his hair back. There is a flurry of footsteps, and Bin’s head pokes into Sanha’s bedroom, lips pursed. His eyes scan over the scene before him and they turn downward, round and sorrowful. “Can you get the thermometer, please? And, the children’s cold medicine?”

Following instructions, he turns back down the hall immediately, rummaging through the kitchen. Myungjun sways Sanha gently on his lap, rubbing at his back, where his t-shirt sticks to his skin with clammy sweat. When Bin returns, he hurries to Sanha’s bedside, a cup of water in hand, a box of medicine, and the thermometer.

Myungjun thanks him, taking the thermometer and popping it between Sanha’s lips. It beeps after a long moment, and Myungjun pulls it out, sighing heavily. “Thirty-nine-point-three-degrees,” he tells Bin, turning to Sanha. “You’re a sick one, aren’t you?”

“It hurts,” Sanha whines, clutching onto Myungjun’s shirt.

“Here,” Myungjun mumbles, “Let’s get some medicine in you, and hopefully you’ll feel better before school.”

Sanha thrashes on his lap, kicking his legs. “I don’t want to go to school!”

Bin frowns, “He can’t go to school this sick, he’ll get all the other kids sick,” he says.

Myungjun uncaps the medicine and pushes the syringe inside, collecting the right amount for his brother. “What other choice do we have, Bin? Can’t he stay in the nurse’s room or something?” He pulls the syringe out, “Open up,” he tells Sanha, holding it up to his lips.

“No!” The boy cries. “It tastes disgusting!”

Myungjun grumbles, shifting the boy on his lap. “Look, baby, it’ll make you feel a lot better even if it tastes bad for a moment,” he mutters. “Binnie brought you some water to wash it down. Open up,” he repeats, and the boy finally gives in. He swallows the liquid with a wince, he reaches for the cup in Bin’s hand and downs it.

“I’ll talk to the school, now,” Bin says, taking the medicine and cup back to the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Myungjun murmurs, hoisting Sanha onto his hip. “Come on, baby, we’re already running late. Let’s go get your uniform on.”

Sanha is surprisingly cooperative as they move quickly, sluggishly tugging on his uniform and packing his backpack up. He ties his hat around his head, but refuses to eat anything more than a few grapes for breakfast, brushing his teeth lazily in front of the mirror. “You’re a good boy,” Myungjun tells him, pressing a kiss to his brother’s head. “You’re always so helpful, baby.”

Sanha blinks up at him, eyes a little red, and spits his toothpaste out. “Come here,” Myungjun mumbles after Sanha has washed his mouth out. “Come give me a cuddle. I’m sorry you still have to go to school. If I could, I’d let you stay home and we could watch movies all day. Next time you get sick, I promise I’ll stay home and take care of you, okay?” He mumbles, running his fingers through Sanha’s unkempt and sweaty hair.

The sound of Bin unlocking the front door is heard, and he calls from down the hall, “We gotta go! Are you guys ready?”

Myungjun looks down at his brother, “Ready to go?”

Sanha simply nods, clutching onto Myungjun’s hand and stepping off the stool. As the three of them get into the car, Sanha falls asleep in his new chair, head leant against the sides and fingers clutched onto the straps that loop over his shoulders. Myungjun marvels at how small he looks, as if he’d barely grown at all.

Bin pulls up in front of the grocery store, “Good luck today,” he says.

“Good luck today,” Myungjun replies, kissing him quickly. He opens the passenger door before turning back. “Take care of him. Call me if it gets worse, I’ll leave if I have too.”

Bin’s lips purse, his hand falling to Myungjun’s knee. “I’ll make sure everything is okay. Don’t worry,” he assures.

Myungjun doesn’t mean to say it so suddenly, so breathlessly, but he cannot help it, caught up in the moment, “I love you.” Caught up in Bin’s love, his care and his kindness. He wonders every day how he had gone so long without it.

Bin smiles over at him, “I love you more,” he says.

Myungjun spends the rest of the day recalling the moment, his heart fluttering in his chest.

 

*

 

The bus ride home is slow, caught in traffic. Little cars surround the bus like an ocean, and Myungjun leans back into his seat, wondering about his brother. Bin had not contacted him throughout the day. Had the medicine worked to make Sanha feel better, after all?

As he thinks this, his phone buzzes in his hand, a text from Bin flashing on the screen. He flips open screen, smiling gently.

_Everything is okay. Sanha slept in the nurse’s room for most of the day. You aren’t home, where are you? I miss you!_

He hurries to type out a response.

_That is good! Stuck in traffic, but my stop is coming up soon. I’ll see you shortly! Missing you, too._

The traffic slowly dwindles as the bus nears Myungjun’s stop. He finally steps off, setting out on the walk home to Bin’s. It had become familiar to him, now. The old lady who sits on the bench on the corner, feeding crumbs from old bread to birds. The family with a brand-new baby who stroll past with a pram, each day the baby growing bigger and bigger. The dog from the apartment complex next door, slow in its old age, but vibrant nonetheless.

Myungjun steps into the elevator and down the hall, unlocking the door with the key Bin had cut for him. The house is oddly silent, as he arrives. Usually, if he comes home late, Sanha runs to the door and jumps into his arms. Usually, if he comes home late, Bin kisses his forehead and welcomes him home. Today, no one comes to see him.

Before he can feel upset, he hangs his coat and bag up and peers into the living room. Sanha is not eating snacks in front of the television, Bin is not creating new homework sheets. Myungjun makes his way down the hall. Sanha is not in his bedroom, not curled up into the sheets and trying to sleep off his illness. Becoming disheartened, he finally tries his own bedroom.

The door is almost shut, ajar by only a crack, and he gently pushes it open. It squeaks quietly as it opens upon he and Bin’s bed. In the centre, Bin is stretched out on his back, in a long straight line, like a soldier. Beside him, curled into his side and wrapped around his waist is Sanha, cheeks squashed into Bin’s chest.

The afternoon sun washes over them, golden and sweet. Their chests rise and fall almost in perfect synchronicity, Sanha huffing out tiny little snores. Upon closer inspection, Bin’s arm is secured around Sanha’s side, holding the boy against his body gently.

Myungjun sighs softly, drinking in the scene before him. How domestic, how loving. This was his family before him, two of his favourite people intertwined and dreaming. Carefully, he climbs into the bed, curling himself into Bin’s other side. The sheets are warm, sun-soaked, and Bin’s skin is musky and hot.

He strings an arm over Bin’s side, and his boyfriend shifts gently. His head lethargically lifts off the pillow and his neck cranes to look down at Myungjun, huddled into his side. “You’re home,” he whispers, a tired loll in his words.

Myungjun reaches up, cupping at Bin’s jaw. His thumb rubs over Bin’s lip quickly, patting his chin. “Go back to sleep, honey,” he murmurs.

Bin nods slowly, head falling back against the pillow. “I love you,” he says into the air.

Myungjun wonders if he said it to him, or if he said it to Sanha. Perhaps, he said it to the both of them.

 

*

 

There are papers scattered atop Myungjun’s new desk. Brochures and information booklets for a range of universities and courses. Bin’s laptop is open on the corner, a word document open with Myungjun’s first draft of his application.

He sits on Bin’s lap in Bin’s desk chair, as his boyfriend corrects small sections of his letter and provides him with more things he could say. In Myungjun’s letter, he details his previous efforts, the situation that had caused his dropping out six years earlier.

Myungjun lets Sanha seal each individual envelope, and together, the three of them walk down to the post office, hand-in-hand. “This is really happening,” Myungjun murmurs, as he slides the letters into the outbox.

“I’m so proud of you,” Bin replies, Sanha on his hip nodding in agreement, though he would not quite understand.

“I could not have done it without you.”

Myungjun slips his arms around Bin and around Sanha, nestling his face between them. His heart feels warm, feels as if it’s swelling. He wonders if he has so much love for these two before him that his heart cannot possibly hold it all, anymore.

 

*

 

Myungjun checks the mailbox every single day.

Having no job in the daytime, with Bin and Sanha at school, he has little to do. He regrets quitting so early – especially when he hadn’t been accepted yet. As each day drew on and finished, and he received no letter, he became increasingly more anxious.

Bin had suggested he explore the city he had lived in for so long. Go for a bit of shopping, for leisure and not for necessity, for the first time in a long time. Perhaps watch a movie, or eat out at a café. Myungjun had frowned, wondering why he would do all of that on his own, when he could wait for the weekend and go with his boyfriend and his little brother.

“That’s too much money to spend,” Myungjun had argued, looking through his closet for something to wear.

“Clothes shopping isn’t that bad, especially if you’ll wear everything,” Bin replied. He had chosen a shirt for Myungjun, and held it up against him. “Besides, you don’t have that many clothes. Get some new clothes that you can wear to school.”

Myungjun frowned, “But, I haven’t been accepted.”

“Yet.”

Myungjun found himself in a shopping centre, the halls lined with various clothing stores. He dipped in and out of each one, looking for clothes to buy. He had a little bit of his own money, and some that Bin had given him to encourage him to treat himself. Myungjun tries to imagine the clothes he likes most in Bin’s closet, recalls the way they look on his own body, a little too big – though, overall, stylish.

He ends up purchasing two new t-shirts, a smart looking button up, and a pair of jeans. Myungjun had also paid visit to a children’s store and bought Sanha a new pair of sneakers and a new shirt.

On the way home, he looks forward to showing Bin what he bought, but he doesn’t forget to check the mailbox. Inside, a thin white envelope pokes out.

Intrigued, Myungjun tugs it out of the box, immediately met with the logo from one of the schools he applied for. An anxious feeling swirls in his stomach as he hurries to rip the top open. The letter inside crumples in his hands in his haste to unfold it.

_Dear Mr. Kim Myungjun,_

Myungjun swallows a lump in his throat.

_Your application was received by the university, and the board have decided to accept you into the Architecture A01 class._

He almost screams in delight. He hurries into the elevator, bouncing as he presses the button repeatedly, in the hopes it might speed up. He runs down the hall, shopping bags flailing behind him in his dash, missing the lock with his key in all his shaking. When he finally opens the door, it slams against the wall, and Bin hurries to assess the commotion. His hard gaze softens when it falls upon Myungjun.

“Hey,” he breathes, stepping forward.

Wordlessly, Myungjun thrusts the letter into his partners face, examining his reaction to the notice. He watches Bin’s eyes skitter across the words, watches his whole face light up and the beaming smile stretch across his lips. He hands fall to his side, “Myungjun… I’m so proud of you…”

“Can you believe it?!” Myungjun cheers, jumping up and down. He hurries into the living room, where Sanha is huddled over his homework. “Sanha! Sanha! Look, I made it into university!” Sanha grins, leaping up and jumping onto Myungjun’s hip.

Together, the three of them celebrate Myungjun’s success; moving onto the next step, together.

 

*

 

Myungjun is on the edge of his passenger side seat as Bin drives him to the university for his first day.

It had been a long few weeks of anxious waiting, between the day of his acceptance and this day. Bin had gifted him a laptop, with Myungjun’s promise to pay back half of it. It sits in his backpack, with a notebook and some pens. On his cheek is Sanha’s invisible kiss, enough to give him the strength for the day.

“You excited?” Bin asks, as he drives into the campus. There are students strolling around, some a bit younger than Myungjun, some around his age. The campus buildings tower over them, the trees lining the road a welcoming arch.

“Nervous, too,” Myungjun replies, looking out the window. “Mostly excited. I just wanna go in!” He says.

Bin pulls onto the curb, and Myungjun hurries to open the door. “Goodbye!” Bin waves, leaning over onto the passenger side, but Myungjun has already left his seat. “I love you!” He calls, from the wound down window.

Myungjun turns back, yelling over his shoulder, “Love you, too!”

He hurries along the campus, following the map he’d memorised, walking along the pathways to his first classroom. There are already people milling around inside the lecture hall, small clusters of people chatting, and few people scrolling through their phones as they wait for class to start.

At the front of the room, below him, is a long desk. A man stands behind it, papers piled by his side, his laptop open in front of him. His eyes look up every time someone new walks in. Myungjun sets up his desk, preparing himself for the day ahead.

 

*

 

Bin’s car is waiting patiently for him, where he’d been dropped off that morning.

He yanks the door open and steps inside, leaning over and waiting for Bin to kiss him.

“You didn’t kiss me when you left this morning,” Bin teases, pulling his head away. He giggles at Myungjun’s frown, poking his pouty bottom lip with his finger.

Sanha is in the backseat, leaning forward in his car seat, “That’s gross,” he says.

“You’re gross,” Myungjun replies playfully, sticking his tongue out at his little brother, who pokes his little pink tongue right back. Myungjun turns back to Bin. “I’m sorry. How about I make up for it?” He suggests, leaning forward again.

Bin shrugs, leaning into him and kissing his lips. Sanha laughs from the backseat, shielding his eyes and kicking his legs around. After their two kisses, Bin’s hand laces within his own, “So, how was Day One?”

Myungjun sighs, sitting back in his seat. “Amazing!”

 

*

 

Myungjun had not been aware that studying full-time would be so demanding and frustrating.

He runs his fingers through his hair, lightly tugging as he thinks of what to write next for his rationale. His fingers tap against the keyboard lamely but do not press the keys, only two sentences staring back at him. The typing cursor blinks back at him, waiting impatiently for him to continue.

Bin had decided to leave him alone for most of the day after realising he was visibly distressed, entering only sometimes to bring food and water and, maybe, a kiss. Myungjun had snapped at him in the morning for no-good-reason, and Bin had shrunk away. Now, he is filled with regret, and feels he needs nothing but his boyfriend’s affection.

Sanha had come into the room a few times and played on the floor, as he often did, especially when the two men were working in the study at the same time. He had made too much noise, and Myungjun had yelled at him to leave. Guilt was hot in his blood as he heard Sanha’s tears echo down the hall, and Bin trying to soothe his little brother.

Deciding he won’t be able to get anymore done without apologising to his family and getting some fresh air, Myungjun slams his laptop shut and leaves the room, walking down the hall.

Sanha is on the balcony, laying on his stomach and reading a book. The breeze winds slowly through his hair, against his pink cheeks, his legs kicking back and forth. Stepping out onto the balcony, Myungjun calls for his brother. The boy lifts his head and turns to face him, but as their eyes meet, his gaze falls back to the floor. Myungjun had rarely yelled at him, and whenever he did, he would quickly apologise. This was the first time Sanha had ever been shut out by his older brother.

“Sanha…” he murmurs, sitting on the floor beside him. Sanha nearly inches away, flinching slightly, and Myungjun feels his heart shatter in its place in his chest. “Sanha, don’t…” He isn’t sure what to say, finds his sentence trailing off unfinished.

“You’re mad at me,” Sanha says, his little pink face curled inwards. His eyes well up, and Myungjun worries he might cry, again.

“Oh, baby, no. I’m not mad at you. I just… I got angry all of a sudden and yelled. I’m really sorry, Sanha,” he murmurs, his arms stretching out for his brother. Sanha sits up, sliding closer, but not close enough. “School has been very stressful for me and I just snapped. I’m so sorry.”

“I got worried,” Sanha sniffles, climbing into Myungjun’s arms. “That you didn’t love me anymore…” He murmurs, snuggling himself into his brother’s neck.

Myungjun’s heart plummets into his stomach, and he hugs the boy tighter. “No, Sanha, I could never stop loving you!” He assures, feeling his eyes prickle with hot tears. “I always love you,” he says, pressing kisses along Sanha’s hairline.

There’s a knock on the sliding balcony door, and Myungjun turns to look up at Bin. He smiles tightly, and Bin takes a seat on the floor beside him, his head falling to Myungjun’s shoulder. “Hey,” he mumbles, hand resting on Myungjun’s knee.

“I’m sorry,” Myungjun whispers. He feels Bin shake his head. “No, really… I’m sorry for snapping at you both. Everything just kinda… Everything is so stressful,” he admits. “I didn’t realise it would be like this.”

“It’s okay,” Bin replies, his hand brushing through Sanha’s hair.

Myungjun brings a hand around and rests it on Bin’s leg. “That’s not an excuse, though. I shouldn’t have yelled at either of you.”

“Everyone has their limits, Jun. You reached yours this morning, and that’s okay. It happens,” Bin assures, pressing a kiss beneath the lobe of his ear. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Myungjun sighs, feeling the breeze wash over the three of them as they look out over the city. He had made mistakes, and he would make so many more – but, with Bin and Sanha beside him, sharing all the love in the world, life didn’t seem so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys know where to find me! tag me in shit :3


	12. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In all his life, Myungjun has known no happiness as fruitful as this.  
> [final chapter]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oookay so before i begin i'd just like to say a little something before i finish off this story!  
> thank you so much to everyone for reading this fic and supporting it~ your messages have been so lovely and i love opening up each comment and tweet from everyone. it truly makes my day whenever i see your kind words, or funny pics on twitter! and thank you to everyone who was there for me despite the last few weeks have been a little tough for me!
> 
> and also a very big and very special thank you to @vonseal for being there for me and encouraging me the whole way along. this little idea started in late january and seal has put in so much love for this story and i am forever grateful!
> 
> anyway, read away! thank you so much everyone!

The gown is wrapped around him, strung over his shoulders and falling over his body. His cap is perched on the back of his head, a little uncomfortable, the tassel falling in his eyes. Sanha had refused to dress in a full suit, claiming it would be itchy and uncomfortable, so Myungjun let him settle for a smart shirt and some slacks, and a sleek, black tie. Bin opted for the suit, dashing and handsome as he was.

“We’re gonna be _late_ ,” Sanha drawls from the door, tugging at his tie.

“Don’t you look handsome?” Myungjun chimes, kissing his cheek as he passes him in the hall. He steps over a cardboard box and into the bathroom, where Bin is fussing over his hair. “Hey, don’t mess it up! You looked so good,” he whines, running his fingers through Bin’s hair and messing it up a little.

Bin grumbles, “I’ve gotta look smart!” he argues, hurrying to fix his hair again. He grins, his smile caving dimples into his cheeks.

“We’re really going to be late!” Sanha cries.

Myungjun rolls his eyes at Bin, “Sometimes, it seems like he’s already started puberty,” he mutters, kissing Bin’s chin and leaving the room. He peers over at Sanha, leant up against the hallway wall. His baby fat had almost completely disappeared, except for the cute puffiness of his cheeks; instead, now, he was long and lanky. Age eleven, and only a head shorter than Myungjun himself.

He looks at the boy Sanha is now, and wonders, when was the last time he had carried Sanha on his hip? When was the last time Sanha had slept with a nightlight? When was the last time Sanha had crawled into their bed in the mornings?

“Oh, look at you,” Myungjun sings, taking Sanha’s hand. “Look how grown up you look,” he spins Sanha around on his finger.

“I’m growing up fast, huh?” Sanha grins, his teeth poking through. His teeth have all grown back, bar a few at the back of his mouth. “I’m gonna be way taller than you, someday, MJ,” he retorts, poking his tongue out.

“Aren’t you cheeky?” Myungjun tickles his brother’s sides, making the boy laugh and crumple into a ball on the floor.

“OK!” Bin calls, hurrying out of the bathroom. “I’m ready to go now, really,” he says.

“We’re running late,” Sanha chimes, opening the door and stepping out into the hall. “This graduation is the most important day of MJ’s life, and we’re going to be _late_!” He urges, pressing the elevator button.

Bin frowns at Sanha. “Most important?” Myungjun asks.

“ _Second_ most important,” Bin answers. Myungjun nods in agreement, fingers absentmindedly toying with the ring on his finger. Bin had given it to him a few weeks prior, on a date night under the stars. They had talked all about their future, and decided, then and there, to get engaged. They hurried to the store and bought matching rings, elated.

Sanha sighs, “That day hasn’t even happened yet.” He steps off the elevator. “Besides, if you’re playing that game, surely _my birth_ is the most important day of Myungjun’s life?”

“You wish,” Myungjun teases, poking Sanha in the side. The boy whines loudly, “Hey, I’m just teasing, silly-billy,” Myungjun adds, scooping the tween into his arms and kissing his cheek. They step out into the carpark, and Bin unlocks the car. “Now, I must do everything I can to make sure my gown doesn’t get caught in the car door.”

Bin laughs, as Myungjun slides into the passenger side. Some of his gown spills out of the door, and he accepts the duty of pulling it over and piling it in Myungjun’s lap. Myungjun kisses his cheek in gratitude, and Bin shuts the door behind himself. The drive to the university is short, and Myungjun feels a strange sense of loss. Would this be the last time he drove these roads?

Sanha is playing a video game in the backseat of the car, “I wish Minhyuk could have come, today,” he says.

“I know, baby,” Myungjun replies, looking over the car seat at him. “This is a family thing, though.”

“I know,” Sanha replies. “Don’t forget: he’s coming over tomorrow to help pack.”

Bin hums, “Oh, that’s right. Are Jinwoo and Dongmin coming, too?” Bin asks, “I know we’re packing, but maybe we should clean up a bit.”

“No,” Sanha presses, “This is _our_ thing. Just me and Minhyuk.”

Myungjun meets Bin’s eye, a sly, understanding gaze shared between them. “Okay, that’s fine,” Myungjun replies, resting his hand on Bin’s leg. His ring shines under the sun, glistening. He peers over at Bin’s matching one, hands on the steering wheel, and feels his heart flutter.

The amphitheatre is filled with hundreds of guests. Family members, friends, teachers and graduating students. Myungjun watches Bin and Sanha leave to find their seats, but loses them in the crowd as he finds his own. The ceremonies carry on and on, and Myungjun waits anxiously for his name to be called.

When it finally is, he hears, from somewhere in the crowd, Bin and Sanha cheering wildly for him. His heart pounds in his chest as he collects his awards, eyes scanning the crowd for his favourite people.

They’re left of the centre, waving big and wildly, arms dancing in the air. Myungjun grins, heart overflowing, and he waves back.

When the ceremony ends, he waits outside the main building, farewelling his classmates and wishing them luck. He kicks his toe against the grass, wondering about his future. He had graduated, was ready to look for a job to begin his dream. Sanha was going into middle school. He and Bin were going to get married. The three of them were moving, perhaps making room for a fourth member of the family.

There’s a clamour of heavy footsteps, and Myungjun looks up, to see Bin and Sanha running towards him. He is collected in their arms, squeezed tightly in their embrace. Sanha hugs him tightly, congratulating him repeatedly. Bin kisses him, long and deep, whispering phrases of love and pride.

Myungjun falls asleep that night, heart swelling with warmth. His life had finally come together. For the first time, he feels at peace with himself. He feels that everything he worked hard for had come to fruition; Sanha had grown up, happy and kind and beautiful. He was growing the family he had always wanted. And, he had graduated.

In all his life, Myungjun has known no happiness as fruitful as this.

 

*

 

There’s a single picture framed on the wall of their new home.

Myungjun stands with Sanha in his arms beneath him, Bin beside him, one arm strung around his waist, the other holding the tiny bundle of a young baby girl. Everyone grins widely, eyes shining and cheeks pink. The family Myungjun had always dreamed of is a little mismatched – but, finally complete.

He dreams of all their futures, together and apart. Dreams of everything Sanha will achieve, as a smart, handsome young man. Dreams of his new career, of the person their baby daughter will grow to become. Dreams of he and Bin.

There will come a time he will not see Sanha’s beaming grin every single day. There will come a time when seeing each other for more than a few minutes will feel like a gift. There will come a time he and Bin will not have the energy they did when they met. There will come a time when Sanha will have a child of his own, when Myungjun will hold his niece or nephew in his arms and treat them like a grandchild.

Once, Myungjun would have done anything for a better life.

These days, he wouldn’t do anything to change it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE!  
> catch you soon, im working as hard as i can on many things~

**Author's Note:**

> ahh so i hope you enjoyed!! you can find me on my [tumblr](parkjinchu.tumblr.com) or my [twitter](twitter.com/parkjinchu)! i will HAPPILY chat about anything astro! come talk to me about this fic, too :) it'd mean a lot~  
> leave any feedback in the comments below, and for any questions or prompts, please direct them to my tumblr! (twitter is for updates mostly)


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